Gold Mine
by nubianamy
Summary: Puck's trying to clean the pool, but Dave won't get out.  Puck/Dave.  Warnings for repeated use of the F-word, body image issues and sloppy, first time teenage angst.
1. Chapter 1

_(Author's note: I got inspired after falling in love with writing our AU Dave in Writing Graffiti on Your Body, so I thought I'd try my hand at a more canon Dave. A reasonably canon Puck came along for the ride. Thanks to songirl77 for inspiration; sorry for stepping on your prompt, and I hope you can resurrect your own scene from the dead computer... More to come. Enjoy! -amy)_

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><p>Puck had heard grownups talking about the state of the economy in Ohio, but it was an abstract concept at best, something he'd heard on the news and in civics class. He didn't really get it until his mom made him do his taxes, on which he submitted the earnings from his second year of his summer pool-cleaning business.<p>

"For pete's sake, Noah," she said, grumbling into her coffee, as she showed him how to fill in the columns with cryptic numbers and carry the quantities from box to box. "You made almost as much as I did last summer."

"No shit," he said, blinking at the modest five-figure total in his Earned Income box. He was pretty proud of how he'd done, actually. For a little city, Lima had a lot of pools. And he was the master of networking. He wasn't ashamed of using his body to sell business. He knew the added perk of a shirtless visit from the Puckster made it a winner for many of his housewife clients, but in reality, that was about as far as it went for most of them; the story of Puck and his harem of MILFs was greatly exaggerated. Oh, he'd had a few encounters with hot mamas, but they were mostly just interested in him as eye candy. He didn't mind. Puck was more than happy to get new clients, and if it meant he had to work with his shirt off? Well, it was summer, after all. No big fucking deal.

His mother eyed him over her serving of matzoh brei. "You know, you _could_ be contributing to the household income," she said pointedly, tapping the paper.

"You mean, like, pay rent?" he said, nervously. "I'm saving it for college, Ma." He knew they could use the money, but - he didn't want to give it up. He had a plan. That first year, he hadn't, and he'd spent almost all of his earnings before they went back to school, on stupid shit. Then when Quinn started asking for support for the baby, he'd had barely anything to give - not that she'd asked him for money, but still. He _wanted_ to help, and he couldn't. He felt bad about that, guilty in a way he'd not felt before, like he'd fallen down in his job as a potential dad and provider. So the summer after that, he'd saved most of it, socked it into a short-term CD until the fall, and then when he got back to school Miss Pillsbury and the finance teacher had helped him set up an educational fund for himself.

He kind of felt like he'd shot himself in the academic foot by getting sent to Juvie, and since then he'd thought a lot more about what he was going to do _after_ highschool, when he really _would _have to pay rent. He'd been working on his grades, actually attending class, most of the time. Miss Pillsbury said he could get into the community college, but that wasn't in his plan. His plan involved being far away from Lima, in some big city - Chicago, maybe.

"I know you're saving for college," she sighed, and blew the smoke from her cigarette away from the table. He didn't know how she could smoke and eat at the same time. It was like trying to watch _Criminal Minds_ while reading Facebook and listening to David Goetta - too much input at once, man. "I'm not really serious. _You_ need that money. And you earned it. I won't take it away."

He knew she wouldn't, but it felt better to know the money was safe in the account, that his sonofabitch no-good excuse for a dad wouldn't be able to touch it, and that even on his Ma's worst financial days, it couldn't be a temptation for her. He missed having spending money, but he still made enough at open mics to keep himself in beer, dinners out with Lauren and the occasional movie with Finn.

But this summer, he wasn't going to coast on his success with prior clients. He'd gotten Lauren to help him make some flashy flyers, and he'd bribed a couple freshmen with wine coolers to stick them on every door of every big suburban home on the northwest side. It was old school advertising, but he was determined to double his business again. If he could hit 20k, he might even be able to afford to replace his crappy old Ford pickup before heading out of Lima for good next year. But it was going to take some serious effort.

His sister wasn't so supportive of this idea. "You suck," Sarah said, kicking his chair with her sneaker. "If you're working all summer, you won't be able to take me to the pool."

"You can come swim at the Lapeer's any time you want," he pointed out, kicking her back. "They're going to be out of town all month and I've got a key to their backyard gate. They'll never know you were there."

"There won't be any cute _boys_ at the Lapeer's," she sulked. "Swimming is only 20% about getting wet and 80% about scoping out the guys who got abs over the summer."

"Since when are you interested in boys?" he said, horrified. "You're eleven."

"Practically twelve," she said, twirling her long black hair. "Well, in December."

Puck didn't want to think about what he'd been up to with girls when he was twelve, in relation to what his _little sister_ might be doing, but he wasn't going to dwell on it too long. It took work to make money, and this summer was going to be his gold mine.

"I've got one more summer to make it count," he said. "One more year of school. Then I'm out of here."

"You don't have to rub it in," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You can come visit whenever you want. Wherever I end up."

Sarah might only be eleven-practically-twelve, but she had the teenage eye-roll down pat. "Great. Hope you'll be within Greyhound access. I don't really want to be hitting Mom up for rides." She buried her face in her arms on the table and sighed, loud and long.

Puck glanced out the window. It was a perfect day, sunny and breezy. Great for cleaning pools. He needed to get out there. "I can't stay in this fucking town, Sarah," he said.

"I know." Her voice filtered through the sleeve of her shirt was miserable. "You just get to leave five years before me."

* * *

><p>Dave kicked off the side of the pool and shot into the stroke, lifting himself up above the surface. His flipturns were improving, and he could tell he was getting a little faster. Swimming was just so <em>exhausting.<em> That was only one of the things that made it the perfect form of exercise - he could keep cool; there was no pressure from coaches or parents or peers. Best of all, he could do it alone. Nobody needed to see _this_, rising out of the water. _The great white Dave. _He obliterated the thought with redoubled effort on the return lap.

He was going for the ten second gain in his time with such ferocity that he didn't see the guy standing on the side of the pool until he stopped, gasping, in the shallow end, right at his feet.

"Dude," Puck said, brandishing the pool vacuum with irritation. "You're not a Lapeer. What are you doing in their pool?"

"I'm house-sitting," he said, squinting up at Puck. "What the fuck are _you_ doing here?"

Puck held up his weapon. "Regular client. They pay me a monthly fee, I come once a week and as needed."

"Well, you're not. Needed, that is." Dave dropped lower in the water, suddenly self-conscious. Puck's stomach was toned, defined, and though his shoulders were big, he didn't have one inch of fat on him. It was exactly what Dave wished for himself, wished he could look like, instead of - what he was. _A chubby boy who sweats too much. _

Puck's eyes were steady on Dave, which made him twitch and turn away. "Hmm."

"What?" Dave had to ask. Puck shrugged and set the pool vacuum down, settling himself in one of the lounge chairs on the deck.

"Didn't peg you as a swimmer, Karofsky," Puck said, gesturing at the pool.

"Didn't know you were paying attention, _Puckerman,"_ he said, but the retort was tired, and he didn't feel like fucking getting into it. He just didn't.

"I like swimming. I just don't like doing it because I have to." He grinned, and Dave felt his tight mouth relax a fraction. "I'm way too lazy for that."

"Just because you were blessed with almost perfect genetics," Dave said, then closed his eyes. _Why the fuck had he said that?_

"Almost?" Puck said, grinning deeper, his elbows on his knees, fingers making a pyramid. "So if you're not a swimmer, and you aren't, what's this all about?"

"Why do you care?"

The question gave Puck pause, as though he actually were thinking about it. Finally he shrugged. "I guess because I spend my whole summer cleaning pools," he said. "Mostly I do it by myself. Gets a little lonely."

"Yeah, I heard you have a yen for older women," Dave said. He tread water, itching to get back to laps now that he'd caught his breath, but not willing to intentionally swim in front of Puck.

Puck laughed. "Only if they're easy. I'm not super interested in working too hard for a summer thing." He leaned back in the lounge chair. He had a lot of dark curly hairs on his abdomen. Dave thought, if _he'd _been going for the MILFs, and if _he_ had abs like that, he would have had them waxed, like Sam. _God. He was not thinking about Sam's fucking abs. _He pushed away from the side of the pool, angrily, wishing Puck would just get up and _leave_ already.

"So what _are_ you interested in working hard for?" Dave said, from the safety of the other side of the pool.

"Well, for one thing, I'm hoping to double my business from last summer." Puck put his hands behind his head, flexing his guns, which Dave did _not _watch. "I did pretty well the last two years. This is my chance - I can't waste it."

"What kind of a chance do you have?"

Puck didn't respond for a long time, and when Dave paused in his next lap, he realized Puck looked a little hurt. "What is it?" Dave said.

"I _can _get into college," Puck said, his voice tight. "I mean... I _have _to. I can't get stuck in this town forever. I'm not going to be a fucking Lima loser."

Dave stopped swimming and stood there in the middle of the water. "Whatever, man. You can leave any time you want to."

Puck's laugh this time was hopeless. It made Dave's gut hurt, and he didn't even _like_ Puck. "You apparently don't know how this works. People like you, they get good grades, go to university, get the hell out of Dodge. People like me, they get stuck here. We don't have a choice. Lima is, like, a fucking _vortex._"

"Dude, you know the word vortex?" Dave grinned despite himself, and Puck grinned back.

"Yeah, man. I watch Star Trek."

Dave blinked. "You're shitting me."

"Heh. Next Generation only. None of that Deep Space Nine or Voyager crap."

Dave leaned on the side of the pool. His image of Noah Puckerman had just been turned on its ear. He found himself wondering what other assumptions he'd made about Puck that would turn out to be wrong. "Come on, man," he said, trying to regain his equilibrium. "Voyager had Seven of Nine. She had a great rack."

Puck snorted. "Really, Karofsky? I thought you were, uh, a tight end playing with the rear guard?"

Now Dave felt his face flush, and under the hot June sun he was suddenly far too warm. He ducked under the water for a moment, held his breath for a moment, and came up, slicking his streaming hair back from his face. "You've been listening to Santana again?"

Puck was watching him with a curious expression. "No, dude. You were totally checking out Sam's ass in the hallway. That's pretty gay, man."

Dave let the water carry him away from Puck, from his obnoxious words and his piercing stare. There was no way he was going to talk about this with _Puck._ When he came up for air, Puck was wandering up the cobbled walk to the sliding glass door off the Lapeer's back deck.

"You can't just walk into their house," Dave called.

"Watch me," he shot back. "I promise, I won't steal anything. Besides, Mrs. Lapeer always leaves me a pitcher of iced tea when I come to clean. I'm gonna check the fridge."

Dave took advantage of Puck's absence to hoist himself out of the shallow end and grab his towel. He'd left a t-shirt on the umbrella table, because even without an audience, he didn't feel comfortable walking around without a shirt on. As soon as he was dry enough, he pulled it on over his head, and when his head emerged, Puck was standing there, holding two glasses.

"Did Kurt tell you?" Dave guessed.

Puck's brow wrinkled, and he shook his head. "Kurt doesn't tell me anything," Puck replied. "It's just that you're pretty obvious. If you know what you're looking for."

_What _are_ you looking for?_ Dave wanted to ask, suddenly annoyed, but he took the proffered glass of tea and gulped it down all at once. He smirked.

"What?" Puck said.

"No offense to your MILF," Dave said, "but _I_ made that iced tea."

Puck's cocky expression faltered, but only momentarily. His eyes flickered from Dave's hair, to the glass in his hand, and finally back to his eyes. Dave's stomach did a slow roll as Puck chuckled.

"No offense to her, either," he said, "but _she's_ not all that hot."

He reached out, and Dave flinched away before he realized that Puck was just taking the empty glass from his hand. Puck's gaze was inquisitive and friendly. It wasn't what he'd expected from Puck, this banter, this easy interaction. Dave had no idea what to make of him.

"You're staying here?" Puck asked.

"Yeah," Dave said, almost unwillingly.

Puck just nodded. "See you around, then. I've got another appointment now; I'll stop in tomorrow to clean the pool."

"Can you at least learn to fucking knock?" he muttered, turning away.

That night, Dave woke to aching hardness and fleeting dreams of Puck on his knees on the pool deck, putting that mouth of his to good use. He didn't even feel guilty at the images that flashed before his eyes - Puck's lips, firm and sweet; Puck's hands gripping his ass, pulling him in closer, deeper - and came with a desperate groan. Only afterwards, as he drifted back to sleep, did he consider the guest bed sheets, and hoped the stains would come out in the wash.

* * *

><p>Puck didn't knock.<p>

"So, really, Karofsky," he said by way of greeting, hauling the pool vacuum across the deck with a practiced tug. "You can't tell me you like Voyager. It's, like, an embarrassment. The plots are all rehashed Battlestar Galactica - and not the new good one, I mean the crappy one from the '70s."

Dave paused in his laps, shaking his head. "Dude, this is wrong on so many levels. First of all, the only way you'd _know_ they were all rehashed was if you, a) watched Voyager to find out, and b) had watched Battlestar Galactica too... which, seriously, _why?"_

Puck grinned. He had on a tank top today, which did nothing to hide his best features, but Dave thought Puck might know that already. His confidence was infuriating - but if _he_ looked like that, maybe he'd be confident too. Maybe. "You can blame my dad. He was a crummy parent, but he was really good at sitting on the couch with us and watching bad science fiction shows."

"Was?" Dave said. He quickly exited the pool while Puck was busy hooking up the vacuum by the grill at the deep end. Puck didn't watch him as he dried off. He wasn't sure if this was a kindness or just that Puck was disgusted by what he saw. "So, your dad, he's not around anymore?"

"No, and thank God for that." Puck gave the hose on the vacuum an irritated yank and managed to knock over a planter. "Dammit all to fucking hell," he swore, clearly exasperated. "Now _that's _going to look professional."

Dave draped the towel around his neck and hurried over to help right the planter and pick up the worst of the dirt. "Thanks," Puck muttered, leaning over to scoop the soil up with his hands. Dave noticed, amid a dozen other things, the ugly scar on Puck's head, running through his mohawk across his scalp.

"What happened to your head?" he asked, refraining from reaching out to touch it, which would have been... just the worst idea ever. Puck glanced up at him, returning from whatever angry place he'd been, and placed a hand on his head.

"Long story," he said. "Ask me again sometime when I have more beer in me."

Dave sat on a deck chair and dried off in the sun while Puck cleaned the pool. He clearly had this thing down to a science, with the skimmer nets and the pH test and the other doodads; Dave had no idea what they were for. He didn't waste any movements, just went through all the steps, efficiently, like choreography. Dave thought it was kind of amazing, really.

As Puck finished up, Dave realized he didn't want him to leave yet, and this made him a little anxious. He wondered what he could do to make him stay.

"I made some more iced tea," he said, and Puck smiled at him over his shoulder, a surprised, grateful smile. Dave went to get it, and cut up some apple while he was at it. He wondered if that made it look like he'd gone to a lot of trouble, and he almost left the apple on the counter, but then he decided that was stupid, since he'd already cut it up, and _fuck,_ this was ridiculous, it was just a fucking _apple._

He set the tea and the apple down on the umbrella table, sat down across from Puck. He had no idea what to say. "The pool looks, um, clean."

"Good thing, or they shouldn't be paying me," Puck replied, taking a long drink. Dave watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, but he looked away before Puck could catch his eye.

"You like to swim?" Puck asked.

Dave shook his head. "Not really. It's worse than running laps. But - I guess I need it. I mean, Coach Beiste said... she made it clear that I need to increase muscle and decrease the flab if I'm going to be competitive in hockey this year."

Puck looked confused. "She's telling you you need to lose weight? Dude, you're, like, an unstoppable force."

"Not since some of the incoming juniors are up for varsity this year," he said grimly. "I'm getting displaced. They're leaner and meaner and I'm just - well." He indicated himself with distaste. Puck's brow furrowed, but he didn't comment. "I hate biking, and running is just fucking torture." He didn't mention the way running made him feel, everything jiggling and moving around with each step. "So, swimming."

Puck looked like he was wrestling with something inside his brain. Finally he shook his head. "What are you going to do after the Lapeers come home? You going to swim over at the Schoonover pool?"

Dave groaned. "God. I hope not, but I can't think of an alternative. That lap lane is always way too fucking crowded with kids to get in a good flipturn. I could drive out to the lake, but..."

Puck gathered up a handful of apple slices and considered Dave. "I've got a bunch of clients who are gone this summer. If you're willing to be a little flexible, I could come up with pools at vacant houses all over town."

Dave felt himself slammed against another wall of assumption about Puck. "That's... really generous, man." He wrinkled his nose, perplexed. "Why would you do that?"

"Like I said," Puck shrugged. "It's kind of a lonely business. Someone to talk to might be... good. Anyway, it'd help you, right? I can be nice, can't I?"

"Um, no," Dave said scornfully, and Puck started laughing. It made Dave laugh, too, and it was almost as though they were friends or something.

As their laughter evaporated, before he could look away, Puck caught his eyes and held them.

"What is this?" he said.

"What?" Dave said, with a sense of unease. "What is what?"

Puck gestured between them. Dave watched his hand move back and forth. "This. You and me. What are we doing?"

"I -"

"Is this a sex thing?" Puck pressed, one eyebrow going up. "Or are we just hanging out? Cause I'm getting mixed vibes here."

Dave pushed his iced tea glass further away from the edge of the table. He glanced at the floor, over to the pool, anywhere except for Puck's gaze. He thought if he looked him in the eyes, he might lose it, flip out, make a run for the house. "It's not -" he scoffed, but he couldn't say it.

"Karofsky," Puck said, sounding aggravated. "Whatever. Either way, it's cool."

"Either way?" Dave repeated. He was having a hard time grasping what Puck was saying, here, because it sounded - it sounded like he was - He felt the curling rope of desire knotting his stomach, tugging his cock to attention, and he repeated the words Puck had said. "A sex thing?"

"Hey, I'm a dude," Puck shrugged. "I have needs. Other dudes have them too. Sometimes they - work together." He made a gesture with his hands that was frankly much hotter than it had any right to be, and Dave looked away, blushing.

"_You _don't like guys." Dave's voice was flat.

"Hey, I don't think you get to tell me what I like," Puck said, amused. "I'm not into that."

"What _are _you into?" Dave heard his voice say, and Puck's face rose, his smile following Dave's question like a thread, pulling them closer together.

"I'm into feeling good," he said. His voice was thick with possibility, and he watched Dave's reaction intently.

Dave felt like he was swimming underwater in a river toward an enormous rock, slowly but inexorably drifting in the current, moving without his own volition, inevitably toward collision. Or maybe he just didn't want to make a choice, and he was pretending he couldn't. It was hard to tell, after so many fucking years of stomping down his own desires. Now Puck was waiting, and he was supposed to do something. The risk felt huge, but in this moment, he didn't really think he was capable of saying no, not in the face of - this.

"I think I can be down with that," he said evenly. Puck's smile widened and his eyes narrowed, and Dave felt a little like the piece of apple Puck held between his fingers. Then Puck popped the apple into his mouth, and Dave's throat made a small noise as he watched him chew, swallow and lick his _fucking_ lips.

"Cool," Puck said.

The table was suddenly in the way, but Dave gripped its edge like a life preserver, and watched Puck with something akin to panic as he rose slowly and walked toward him - and past him, along the deck, to the pool. Puck casually stripped off his tank top and dropped his cutoffs around his ankles, kicking them into the grass, and, wearing only his grey boxer briefs, took three running steps and made a perfect dive into the deep end.

He didn't come up for a few seconds, and Dave found himself holding his breath, as though he were the one in the water. Then he blew it out, nerves jangling. _Why the fuck wasn't he?_

He made himself stand, just do, not think, with mechanical steadiness, and took off his shirt. Puck hadn't yet breached the surface of the water, and Dave watched him swim from one end of the pool to the other, using slow, sure strokes. He considered, with wild creativity, what might happen after Puck came up for air.

It wasn't the scariest moment of Dave's life, but when he compared it to walking off the stage with Kurt Hummel after being crowned King and Queen of the junior prom, and having him ask for a dance - it was right up there. Except this time, he wasn't going to chicken out.

He breathed in courage, and out, and once again, before jumping into the cool, clean water.

He didn't expect Puck to grab his ankles and haul him under, but it made him laugh, and that was just what he needed to snap him out of his paralyzing anxiety. He came up spluttering, and threw an arm around Puck's neck, plunging them both back into the pool amid taunts and more laughter.

"You're going _down,_ Karofsky," Puck crowed, but Dave was just bigger, and even in the water, that counted for something. He wrapped both arms around his shoulders from behind and wrestled Puck into jerking, writhing submission, his breath hot against his neck.

"You call uncle?" he panted into Puck's ear. Puck shuddered and twisted his neck back, turning his face against Dave's, and suddenly their lips were brushing, Puck's tongue hesitating only a moment before driving into Dave's mouth. Then Dave's hands were free, rising up to grip Puck's head. The skin of Puck's bristled scalp scraped his palms as he pulled him deeper into the kiss, and Dave thought with surprise, _oh, that's what it feels like to be kissed by a guy._

It felt so fucking _good._

He heard the noises of their kiss before it was over, and he knew it would forever be branded on his aural memory, the sound of Puck and Dave kissing, and _holy shit, _it was the once and future soundtrack of his masturbatory fantasies. Puck was making a purring, growling noise in his throat that was driving him absolutely insane.

Then Puck was trying to say something, but listening to him would require stopping the kissing, and _no,_ he wasn't doing that, so for a while Dave ignored him. Then, finally, Puck wrested his head away long enough to get a few words out: "What do you do?"

"What?" Dave said, trying to dive back into the kiss, but Puck dodged him, grinning.

"Whoa, cowboy. You. What do you do? Are you a top, bottom, switch - what?"

"I'm a -" Dave paused. He had never been asked such a question, and he figured that would be evident to Puck pretty soon, due to his total lack of finesse at anything past kissing (which, after all, wasn't so different from kissing girls - except that it _totally_ was). It wasn't as though he'd never thought about which part he would take, if it were up to him, but he hadn't gotten far enough along for it ever to be _up_ to him. And now, apparently, it was.

"I'm into feeling good, too," he said, running his hand along Puck's scalp again, very deliberately this time, memorizing each soft bump and bend. Puck seemed to really enjoy this, and he kind of leaned into it, _like a fucking kitten,_ Dave thought, amazed that Puck wasn't telling him to knock it off already.

"Cool, but not helpful here, dude," Puck said, closing his eyes, and his voice was a little hoarse now. "I wanna know if you want me to drive, or what."

_Drive._ That was a verb he hadn't ever used in regard to - two bodies making out. It was inexplicably hot to think about Puck... _driving, _but he wasn't really sure if he was ready for whatever Puck was going to dish out. For a moment, he considered making up a sexual history for himself on the spot, _the strong, silent top_, perhaps, or _the needy, reluctant bottom,_ but in the end, he didn't think he could pull either one off convincingly. "I've never done this before," he admitted. "So I don't know."

"That's okay," Puck said, surprisingly gently. His hand came up to touch Dave's face, doing pretty much the same thing Dave had been doing, stroking his hair, running his fingers through the close-cropped cut he'd gotten last week, and _that_ was why Puck had been reacting that way, because _wow - _it felt _amazing._

Then Puck paused, and when Dave opened his eyes to look, Puck was looking back, right into his face. Dave opened his mouth and took in a surprised breath, but he didn't know how to let it go again, he just held it and held it for too long. Puck's brow knotted again, searching Dave's face for something, and his eyes softened. They were kind of brown and kind of green.

"I'll take care of it," Puck said. Dave had seen that expression on his face once or twice before, when he looked at Quinn, or for a while at Lauren, but -

"Shit, man," Dave blurted, backing away. "What about Lauren?"

Puck pressed his lips together and looked at the surface of the water, and Dave realized he was trying not to laugh. "Lauren's cool," he informed Dave. "We have - an agreement."

"Is that right?" Dave couldn't help keeping the curiosity out of his voice, but he was somewhat shocked by the rush of relief he felt at Puck's words, because it meant _they didn't have to stop, they could keep doing - this. _He didn't want to stop doing this. Not now, not - not at all.

"I've got the green light for a summer thing," Puck said, and his hand was stroking Dave's shoulder now. Dave watched him move his hands, and they was strong and tanned and hairy, just like the rest of Puck. He was way more hot than any guy had a right to be, but Dave wasn't complaining, because he was _touching_ him, and _kissing_ him, and apparently was into doing both of these things with Dave. And more.

Dave tensed as Puck's hand moved toward the flesh along his middle. He'd only lost three pounds so far, and it hadn't made one difference in his body - he was still chubby, and too much of him moved when he walked, and _god_, why would anybody want to touch him anyway? He had no idea how to tell Puck to stop without, well, telling him to stop, so he didn't, just stood miserably in the water, waiting for Puck to get grossed out and tell him to fuck off.

"Karofsky," Puck said, and his voice was low and urgent.

Dave steeled himself for whatever he was about to say. "Yeah," he said.

He felt Puck's hands, continuing down his side, and then tuck under the waistband of his swimsuit, down his legs, and - "What are you doing?" he said in confusion.

"I'm getting better access," Puck said, and he was _smiling_. "Dude, there's a fence around the whole yard. We're cool."

_We're better than cool, _Dave wanted to say, but he wasn't sure how Puck would take it. Then his mind raced ahead, wondering _how _would_ Puck take it, exactly?_ and the image from his dream came back, of Puck kneeling before him on the pool deck. _Would he - did he want to -?_

"What do _you_ do?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady as Puck divested him of his swimsuit. It wasn't easy, because Dave was a big guy, and it was a big suit, and he didn't want to think about how fucking embarrassing this was, comparing his fat ass to Puck's tight one. But Puck was thinking about his question, and Dave wasn't going to miss the answer.

"Mostly top," Puck said. "But I'll do whatever." As Dave was processing this astounding bit of information, Puck added, "And we should probably have condoms and lube for that, so - no fucking in the pool, huh?"

"No," Dave said. "I mean, sure. Right. No... fucking in the pool."

Puck must have caught some of the panic in his voice, because he stopped and looked at Dave again. His face was far kinder than Dave had ever expected to see from him. He was still smiling. Dave took a shuddering breath.

"Dude... are you all right?" Puck asked.

"I'm -" Dave said. Puck's lips were mesmerizing. He thought he might never be able to look anywhere else but at Puck's lips, saying _dude, are you all right,_ and then Puck put out the tip of his tongue and licked his top lip, and Dave actually gasped, like, loud enough for Puck to hear him.

Puck grinned at that, both eyebrows going up, and he did it again, deliberately this time, licked _both_ lips, slow and raunchy. Dave wondered if it was possible to come from watching a guy do that.

"Hop up on the side here," Puck suggested, patting the rough surface of the pool deck.

"Why," Dave said, suddenly suspicious. If it was going to involve him getting out of the water, he really wanted his towel. Because, dude, _naked,_ in_ broad daylight,_ in _someone else's fucking yard._ Fence or no, he could hear kids playing nearby, and the occasional sound of cars driving on the street, and it was far too public for - for -

"I'm gonna suck your cock, dude," Puck said, easily, as though he were saying _I'm gonna make you a sandwich_ or _I'm gonna have some iced tea._ "Come on." He held Dave by both hands and tugged him over to the ladder, but Dave hung back. Puck smiled at him again, patiently and gently, as though he were a shy kid being introduced to a new situation - which he pretty much was. "Seriously," he added. "It's okay. I'm really good at this."

"Jesus," Dave moaned, letting himself be directed to the ladder. He turned crimson as Puck helped him climb up, but Puck didn't say anything about Dave's white ass in his face, or his huge erection, bobbing right by Puck's - "Oh, fucking hell," he hissed, as Puck leaned in over the side edge of the pool, pushed him down roughly onto the surface of the deck and slipped his mouth over the end of Dave's cock.

This was another one of those activities that could have been a lot like the way things were with a girl, except again, _it wasn't at all_. Girls were inevitably tentative, soft and careful. Puck wasn't being _careful._ He was _going for it, _all at once, all of Dave's hard cock, just swallowing it right down as though he'd done this a million times. _Maybe he had?_ Just the thought of Puck doing this to even one other guy, much less a million, was enough to make him want to come. "Slow down," he warned.

Puck wasn't slowing down, though. If anything, he was speeding up, making it tighter, giving him more friction just where he wanted it, underneath, with his _oh my fucking god, his tongue,_ and that was it, he was coming, shooting his load into Puck's mouth. _Into Puck's mouth._

Puck used his hand to catch the drips, but he didn't seem willing to let those go, because he just licked off his palm, licked the rest of Dave's come off his _fucking palm_. "God," Dave said, shaking, leaning back on his hands, his face to the sun. "God."

"I always figure more is better," Puck said, running a hand down Dave's inner thigh, and his voice sounded satisfied, more than satisfied - _smug._ He was _smug_ about giving Dave a _blowjob._

"Why are you doing this?" Dave asked, hostile and angry. He stared down at Puck, standing between his legs, looking up at Dave with surprise.

"Dude," said Puck simply. "You're hot. What's the big deal?"

"I'm - what?" Dave felt his anger drop away like a discarded piece of clothing, like his swimsuit, wadded up on the side of the pool. Puck took his hand, and Dave slid into the pool again, back into Puck's arms, which went right around him like he was dancing with him or something. And Puck was hard, and he was rubbing against Dave, right against his rapidly recharging dick in a dirty, completely unselfconscious motion that was right out of Dave's sexiest wet dreams.

"Uh, _yeah,_" Puck said, like it was obvious. "Don't tell me you don't know."

"Know _what?"_ Dave said. He felt stupid, like he was missing something, but he wasn't pretending, he just _didn't know_ what Puck was talking about. Plus, he was a little distracted, because Puck's body against his, Puck's nearly naked body, provided him with all kinds of possibilities he'd only entertained in fantasies before. His ass, for example. He moved his hand to touch it, gave it a tentative squeeze, and heard Puck's answering moan. _Wow._

"Know how hot you are," Puck said. His voice came breathy and quick, and Dave realized he was _turning Puck on._ He. Himself. It was a rush of gargantuan proportions. He tried the squeeze again and elicited an even better sound, and Puck ground his hips against him in a slow, focused spiral.

"Is that... good?" he asked tentatively, and Puck just nodded, eyes closed.

Dave took the opportunity to watch Puck, really _look_ at him, in a way he didn't think he'd ever really let himself do - and, yeah, he had to first admit to himself that he _wanted_ to look at Puck. Which shouldn't be such a big deal, because, honestly, who _wouldn't _want to?

This wasn't catching a glimpse in the hallway, or surreptitiously spying on him in the locker room, though Dave couldn't say he hadn't done both of those things. This was full-on, breath-stealing _staring,_ drinking him in, lingering on all the parts of Puck that were most drool-worthy: his mouth (lips parted), the curve of his cheek (flushed), the tendons in his neck (straining).

"You're so fucking gorgeous," he muttered, and Puck's eyes (oh, eyes, he had to add those to the list - green and brown and framed with lashes longer than any girl's) flew open, met Dave's in a confluence of surprise and lust. Puck was too lost in his own arousal to respond with words, but Dave could feel his appreciation clearly. Puck moaned, a little too loud, and Dave glanced at the seven-foot privacy fence nervously. He had to do something.

The water swirled around them as he pushed Puck up against the side of the wall of the shallow end, using his thigh to part Puck's legs and give him something more substantial to rub against. Puck dug in like it was an ice cream sundae, and he hadn't eaten anything in a week. Dave gulped, hung on, and used his mouth to mute the sounds Puck was making. _They were for him,_ Dave thought, mid-kiss, and it was his turn to feel a little smug.

His success bred confidence, and he stole his hand down under the water, touching those amazing abs, then paused when he reached the soft hem of Puck's briefs. Puck made eye contact again with Dave, and he nodded, his face full of trust and want. "Come on, man," he said roughly, panting, "touch me. Do it."

Dave wondered if he could add Puck's voice, mid-arousal, to the list, because it was just about the hottest fucking thing he'd ever heard. He wanted to hear it again, just to make him say anything, so he coaxed, "Tell me what you want." He ran a finger under the elastic, back and forth, dipping into Puck's navel, and loved Puck's hitch in breath, loved his quick, surprised laugh.

"Fuck, Karofsky; you don't want me to beg, do you?"

Dave didn't, not exactly, but he let himself smirk at Puck's exasperation, and Puck rolled impatient eyes at him, thrusting his hips into Dave's hand. He felt the hot hardness brush his palm, and it was all he could do not to grab for it, but he waited until Puck gritted his teeth and said the magic words: "I want you to jack me off, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed, feeling light-headed, and plunged his hand beneath the water-logged fabric, and he couldn't even see it, but Puck's cock went _right _to the top of the hot-things-about-Puck list. It felt like velvet over burning embers, and he wrapped his hand around it the same way he'd touch himself, hoping it would be what Puck wanted. "Like this?"

"_Yeah," _Puck groaned, in relief and encouragement, "fuck, yeah, _just_ like that." He thrust into Dave's hand again, this time finding tight friction, and again Dave was forced to hold on while Puck just _went for it,_ completely unashamedly fucking Dave's fist.

As he picked up the pace, Dave could feel the end drawing near. He wasn't sure of the etiquette in situations like this, but he figured kissing had been all right all along, so he moved right into Puck's space, just tucked Puck under his arm, snugging him against his waist. Dave's mouth went to Puck's ear, and he liked the way Puck strained to hear whatever it was Dave was about to say.

Dave found himself hesitating, not sure just how much would be welcome, considering an hour before they'd barely been on speaking terms. What was he now? Acquaintances? Fuckbuddies? Puck's _summer thing?_ He wanted - he desperately wanted -

"I'm going to make you come," Dave said, all in a rush, and his own arousal slammed back into him full-force as Puck totally got off on Dave's words, Dave's voice, Dave's pumping hand. He turned his head, seeking Dave's lips, and Dave gave him that, too, each twisting beat of his orgasm another moan into Dave's mouth.

Eyes closed and breathing heavily, Puck leaned into Dave's half-embrace, holding him up in the water, while Dave disentangled his hand from Puck's sodden, stretched-out underwear. "That was... awesome," he said, his head on Puck's shoulder.

"Glad to hear it," Dave managed, and started to pull away, but Puck was clinging to him, sliding a hand down to Dave's cock, half-hard again already. Dave hissed and bucked involuntarily.

"I told you, man," Puck said, grinning, "I always figure more is better. Now hold still."

Dave could only do as he was told, sensing with great anticipation the path of his summer spreading out before him, an endless vista of pools, Puck... and _feeling good._


	2. Chapter 2

_(Author's note: holy shit on a stick, people, you're amazing! I had no idea y'all were going to love this pairing so much. I honestly had no idea I was, either, but Dave is nibbling away at me like minnows to write more, more, more. Stick around. -amy)_

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><p>Dave didn't know what the day-after rules were about hooking up with guys. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to let him call, or call him, or leave him alone, or what - but Puck solved that by showing up at the Lapeer's himself, in between lap numbers thirteen and fourteen. One minute the pool deck was empty, and the next, Puck was sitting on the edge, his feet dangling in the water. He wasn't wearing a shirt today, and his cutoffs were briefer than ever. So was his smirk.<p>

"Don't let me interrupt," Puck said when Dave paused in the middle of the pool.

"Can I help you?" Dave said, out of breath. He was trying for caustic, but he thought it might be edging more toward desperate.

"Work first," said Puck, pointing at Dave. Then he laid a slow hand on his bare chest, like he was saying the words _oh, my._ "Then..."

"... Then?" Dave redirected his stare away from that hand, and how embarrassingly clearly he remembered what it felt like to touch Puck, just like that. The touch had reverberated through his dreams all night. He hadn't been able to sleep much, hopped up on adrenaline, but the times he'd been able to get a solid stretch with his eyes closed, Puck had been there on the back of his eyelids, all of the things they'd done, and the things they'd yet to do. He didn't know how many of them Puck _wanted_ to do.

"Then... we can _play,"_ Puck said, and the word _play_ was long and drawn out, with a tone that left nothing to the imagination. Puck glanced at the pool deck, then back to Dave, his gaze positively fucking _demure, _leaning back on his other arm, feet kicking in the water. But - was he imagining a hesitation, an uncertainty in Puck's pose? Dave wasn't sure.

Dave measured out what he deemed to be an appropriate amount of enthusiasm, not too little, not too much, and nodded. "Sounds good." But inside, where no one could see, where no one _would_ see, there was all kinds of shit going on, waltzes and cha-chas and Snoopy dances and _everything,_ because _god. _

Dave didn't know what he would have done if Puck had wanted to pretend it hadn't happened - or, worse, if he'd been mad about it, if he had pulled out some of the words Dave had in his own arsenal for guys who did stuff like this. _Faggot,_ for example, which rang through his brain with some frequency after fantasies like the ones he'd had last night. But this time, he hadn't just imagined them; he'd actually _done_ those things, done lots of _faggot _things, and they'd been... well, just about the hottest _anythings _of his life.

And it was amazing how comforting that was, because it was really the first confirmation, yes or no, about the idea he'd never spoken out loud, but that Kurt had guessed, and Santana... and now Puck. _That's pretty gay, man._ Now he was certain, as certain as he was that his middle name was Paul, that he wanted to do those things again, and exactly what they meant about him.

"Karofsky," Puck said, like a question, and Dave realized he was approaching Puck at the pool's edge. Puck looked more wary now. "What is it?"

"I was just thinking - " Dave broke off with a start, because he'd _actually_ been about to share his thoughts with Puck, the things he was really thinking. As though being honest mattered, when you were a... what had Puck called it? _A summer thing._ He tried again. "I was thinking... lunch? After I'm done here. I've got another two sets of twelve."

Puck's smirk spread into a smile, a genuine one, and Dave couldn't help it, he smiled back. They stood there, smiling, for maybe one or two seconds too long. Dave was close enough now to see the sun glinting in Puck's green-brown eyes. They were more green today.

It felt like they were finding a delicate balance, neither wanting to give away too much, not wanting to be the one to _need_ anything from the other person. But when he was close enough for Puck to reach out and touch him, Puck _did,_ just leaned forward and hooked one hand behind Dave's neck, pulling him in close against the edge of the pool, between his legs, and kissed him as though there was no question about what he wanted. His mouth tasted like licorice.

"Maybe lunch can wait," Puck murmured, and kissed him again.

Dave shivered in the full sun of noon, opening himself up to the sensations of Puck's warm, expressive lips on his. Puck chuckled, low and round and full.

"I've got an hour before my next appointment." He gave Dave a little push back into the pool, then hopped up and walked back toward the house. "You swim; I'll see what I can put together to eat."

Dave watched him walk away, the smile feeling like a permanent fixture on his face; no matter how much he tried to straighten his lips, they stayed curved, bending up at the corners. _Nothing straight about it,_ he thought, eyes on Puck's round ass, and let out a strangled little laugh.

The last two sets of twelve laps felt interminable, but finally he reached the end. His mind was occupied with possible scenarios about what might happen when they reached _then,_ and he was more than a little turned on by some of them. Usually he swam his laps in a leisurely way, but today he'd driven himself through from start to finish, not wanting to waste any time. He was gasping for breath as he drew up on the edge of the pool, but even amid his exhaustion, parts of him were wide awake and ready to go.

Across the patio, he caught glimpses of Puck moving around in the house, setting things out on the table in the dining room. It all felt absurdly domestic to Dave. _Hi, honey, I'm home. What's for dinner? _Then Puck moved into the sliding glass doorway, standing with his arms up on the frame, making a perfect portrait of himself. Dave leaned in breathlessly, watching Puck, and knowing Puck knew it. He was putting on a show for Dave - _look at me, aren't I fucking hot?_ Dave felt his hard cock throb in response, because, _yeah_, he was.

Then, not taking his eyes away from Dave, watching him watching, Puck moved his hands to the zipper of his cutoffs. Dave froze, caught by understanding: _oh, God, he wasn't -? Was he?_

He was. And it was clear, seconds later, what _else_ Puck wasn't wearing, under his cutoffs. He could have shimmied them off quickly, but Puck didn't do that; he made it last, made it an experience, every movement a snapshot in the scrapbook of Dave's pornographic fantasies. Puck turned to face the table, his back to Dave, as he slid the cutoffs over his bare ass. Dave whimpered, too quietly for Puck to hear, but he thought Puck might know _exactly_ the response he was eliciting. It was excruciating. Dave's hands were on the pool deck, and he thought it would be a little too obvious for him to slide one of them back under the water, so he had to settle for a little friction against the slick tile wall of the pool.

Puck eased his hands down the back of his legs and worked the cutoffs off, inch by inch, and when they dropped to his ankles, he turned back to Dave with a knowing grin. He posed, one hand behind his head, arm flexing, every glorious naked inch of him waiting to be admired and - Dave swallowed - touched.

And Puck's other hand _was _touching, skimming along his stomach to lightly grasp his own half-hard cock. With each movement, Dave groaned to himself, rocking against the pool wall, feeling lightheaded. There was no way he could be standing here, twenty feet from Noah Puckerman, watching him jack off - for _him,_ for _Dave._

He felt a crashing wave of lust, and rolling right in on the heels of that was an equally crippling wave of shame. He turned away, his face burning, and he struggled to regain control. By the time he looked up again, the doorway was empty.

What he'd felt wasn't rational, he knew - inasmuch as _any _of this was fucking rational. Because who gets to watch random hot guys performing strip teases and masturbating in doorways by the pool? Not Dave Karofsky, that was for sure. Not him. And no matter how much he _liked_ it, no matter how much he _wanted _it, there was no way he _deserved_ it. _Fat boys don't get the girl. Or the guy. Right? _

Dave slogged over to the shallow end, his heart rate racing though his workout was long over. He felt vaguely sick, which sometimes happened at the end of a vigorous workout, but he didn't think it was about that. He didn't exactly know _what_ it was about. He just knew he needed to get out of there.

Before he could get up the courage to climb out of the pool, Puck was suddenly there, sliding into the water. He and Dave circled one another. Puck looked the way Dave felt: suspicious, frustrated, and a little pissed. But his voice was soft, and he didn't approach Dave as he spoke.

"You're the one who's gay, man. I thought I was supposed to be the one freaking out."

Dave winced a little at the word, but he didn't deny it. _There's been enough fucking denial. _ "_Are _you freaking out?" he wanted to know.

"No," Puck said. "I'm cool. But _you _definitely are." He paused, watching Dave. Then he strode slowly through the water toward him, and Dave only had about two seconds to consider bolting before Puck was in his face.

"Do you want this?" Puck said, fierce and brash and holy shit, completely _naked, _right there in front of him. Dave stumbled backward, glad for the water to catch him, and Puck just followed him, grabbing Dave around the waist and pulling him in - and they let out tandem sounds of surprise and appreciation as their cocks collided. Dave's decision-making capability dropped to nearly zero, and he found his arms wrapped around Puck's strong back and his tongue down Puck's throat before he could stop himself. The water on Puck's skin made him slick and slippery, and Dave shivered as Puck nudged Dave with his bare hips.

"Okay," Puck said when the kiss broke, leaning his head on Dave's, his breath a little uneven. "I think you answered that question. So - what's the problem?"

Dave had no good answer for that, so he just shook his head. Puck gave an uncomfortable laugh. "Well, something turned you off. Maybe I'm not your type? I know I'm not the tallest –"

"What?" Dave blurted, stepping back from Puck in shock. "You – no. It's not – it's not you." He breathed out, warding away the voice in his head. _Loser. You don't deserve this. Serves you right for being a fucking faggot. _"It's definitely not you," he repeated.

"O-_kay,"_ Puck said, drawing it out, one eyebrow raised. "That's good, then." He reached out one golden hand and placed it on Dave's white chest. The contrast was sickening, and Dave closed his eyes, trying to ignore his hateful, destructive internal voice and just focus on Puck's hand, the feeling of his fingers on Dave's skin.

At last Puck let go, sighing quietly. "Forget it. Let's go eat some lunch. I'm warning you, though, I used pretty much everything they had in the fucking house. You're going to have to go shopping before tomorrow." He dropped his hand and didn't wait for Dave to follow him. Dave didn't; he stayed in the water, eyes riveted on Puck's bare ass as he stalked up the patio and through the glass doors, not bothering with a towel. Only after Puck had disappeared from view did Dave emerge from the water, pulling on his shirt as soon as he was reasonably dry.

He eyed the back gate, considering if a walk around the block might give Puck enough time to decide that this wasn't worth it and go home. But – _that's stupid. You're hungry and Puck fucking made you lunch. You might as well eat it. _So Dave slipped in past the kitchen and up the stairs to the guest room, getting out of his wet clothes and putting on a pair of shorts. He steadfastly didn't think about the size on the tag of his shorts, or ponder the difference between that number and the number he guessed he'd find on the tag of Puck's cutoffs.

_You're a fucking catch,_ he told himself, slowly buttoning up his shirt. _Prom king. Hockey stud. Girls dig you. Even closet dyke Santana said you were worth her time. This – summer thing – it's not worth stressing over._ Maybe if he said it enough times, he might convince himself.

When Dave came back downstairs, Puck had found a shirt and put the cutoffs back on. The lunch included pickles, which Dave didn't care for, and hard boiled eggs, which Dave did, and what looked like the last of the roast beef and sliced swiss cheese on rye. He and Puck reached for it at the same time, and Dave felt something twist in his gut when Puck pulled away before he could touch Dave's hand.

Dave grabbed the sandwich and ripped it in half, holding out one piece, almost like a challenge, as he bit a piece from the other. Puck's lips twitched as he regarded the sandwich, but at last he took it.

"You're kind of fucked up, Karofsky," Puck said, and Dave glowered at him, but didn't respond. What was he going to say? _Yeah, I know? More work than you bargained for in your summer thing? _

"What's your point?" he said at last.

Puck studiously considered the veggies and selected a carrot. "I'm just wondering, you know, if you want to talk about it?"

Dave paused, watching Puck's face warily. "Talk - about what?"

Puck sighed. "Dude. It's not like we've ever been friends. But it's pretty clear you're dealing with… something." He peered at Dave over the carrot. "Like, if Finn had something he was upset about, he'd, you know, tell me. And I'd listen, maybe offer some advice."

Dave thought about Azimio doing something similar. He couldn't see it. If he'd had a freak-out like this, Z would have distracted him, fed him some dirty jokes, and called him friendly names. What Puck was talking about sounded like what Santana had said to him before they began their campaign for prom. _ Is this what girls do for their friends? Is this what –_

"Uh," Dave said suddenly, with a stab of unease. "So, you… and Finn?"

Puck blinked. "You mean – me, and Finn…?" He made the same back-and-forth gesture he'd made when he was asking the question yesterday _What is this?_ Dave nodded, dreading the answer, but Puck grinned and shook his head. "Fuck, no. Finn and me, we've known each other all our lives. That would just be - too much like doing my sister."

"Totally," Dave agreed, and the relief was dizzying. There was no way he could compete with 6'3" beanpole Finn. Puck devoured the rest of the carrots and started in on the pickles before speaking again.

"You're not dating anybody." Puck watched Dave shake his head, and he wrinkled his brow. "What's up with that, dude?"

"Santana –" Dave started, but Puck made a derisive noise.

"Please. Let me try this again. You aren't dating anybody with the appropriate plumbing." Puck's gaze didn't waver from Dave as he shifted uncomfortably on the wooden chair. _Apparently the Lapeers have no need for padding under their butts._

"My dad's really religious," Dave said, looking fixedly at the bunch of grapes. He picked one off the bunch and chewed it. "He – wouldn't be happy if I – brought home a guy."

"I don't think my mom even knows about half the girls I date," Puck said. He took a grape and bit it in half. "You don't think you could get away with it?"

"I think it would get back to him," Dave said. "He's pretty hands-on when it comes to parenting."

Puck looked surprised. "He hits you?"

Dave laughed. "No way. He's really anti-violence. Hands-on, like, he's always asking what I'm up to, if I did all my homework, what kind of clubs I'm doing, that sort of thing. It matters to him that I'm… involved. Says it'll make a difference when I'm applying for college." The grapes were half gone. He broke off a little bunch and pushed the rest of the bowl at Puck.

"You've got good grades," Puck said. It wasn't a question. Dave nodded.

"I'm taking Calc II at Rhodes State during seventh hour. If I can get an A in that, I have a chance at valedictorian."

"Holy shit," Puck said, mildly. He looked impressed, which gave Dave an uncomfortably warm feeling in his stomach. "You're fucking kidding me."

Dave shrugged. "I've always been good at school."

Puck stared at the bowl of grapes. "Yeah, well… _I _always said school is for suckers, but I think it was because it was just too hard. I didn't want to admit I couldn't do it."

"Couldn't do what?"

"Any of it," Puck said. He started to shred the stems of the grapes between his fingers. "Reading, I'm not so good at. Math is fucking impossible. Social studies puts me to sleep. Science, I guess it's kind of interesting, but there's too much math, and stuff to memorize. I can't remember jack." He sighed, scattering the grape stems across the table. "Fuck it. It doesn't matter anyway."

Dave decided this was not the time to bring up the irony of their conversation coinciding with eating sour grapes. "Well… what _do_ you like about school?"

"Football. Glee." He grinned at Dave. "I don't know. Lunch?"

Dave shook his head, grinning back. "Dork. What else?"

"I kind of like writing," Puck admitted. "I took creative writing cause I heard it was an easy A. I just ended up writing song lyrics for most of it, but I fooled Mr. Grayson into thinking it was poetry."

"Song lyrics? Like, you write music?" It was Dave's turn to be impressed. "You play guitar, right?"

"Yeah. It's pretty much the only thing I'm good at."

Dave felt his ears burning, and even though he wasn't hungry, he took a couple cubes of cheese so he would have an excuse not to say what was running through his head. Then he heard Puck's snort of laughter, and he looked up to see him regarding him with mock outrage. "Come _on,_ Karofsky; you can't _find_ a better straight line than that. I'll give it again, but only because I'm so nice. 'Yeah; it's pretty much the only thing I'm good at.'"

Now Dave was sure he was beet red, but his smile was wide enough to hurt his cheeks. "Uh. I can think of at least one other thing?"

"Thank you," Puck acknowledged, with a little bow. "Much better. And don't tell me you're talking about football, 'cause you'll hurt my little fucking girl feelings." He pushed his chair out and took two plates from the table. "Come on. Help me put this shit away. I've got about ten more minutes before my next appointment."

As soon as the last of the food was in the fridge, Puck took Dave's shoulders in his hands and shoved him up against the wall next to the stove. "So, I still don't know what the fuck was going on in the pool," he said, almost conversationally, as he ran his hand down Dave's middle and right to his crotch, palming his cock, which was _definitely_ standing up and taking notice. "But if we're going to do this thing, we should get this crystal clear. You think I'm hot?"

"God," Dave gasped, embarrassment trumped by stampeding lust. "Yes. You're fucking hot."

"Good," Puck said with satisfaction. "Well, I think you're pretty fucking hot too. So can we just forget the plumbing issue? 'Cause I'm not so much interested in being your therapist."

"Yeah, I can do that," Dave choked out, but even through the blistering kiss Puck gave him, Dave's mind was wailing _Why? How? What kind of a stupid idiot are you, fucking Noah Puckerman, that you could think _I'm_ hot? _

"All right." Now both Puck's hands were working at Dave's zipper. His smile was calm, but his eyes burned with heat. "Any requests? Or is this dealer's choice?"

_Sweet Jesus; I get to pick?_ Dave's overloaded brain registered, but his mouth opened on no words, because there was _no fucking _way he could say to Puck what he wanted him to do. Or what he wanted to do to him. Puck hummed amusement as he tugged Dave's shorts down and directed him to sit in one of the kitchen chairs.

"God, I'm going to be fucking insufferable if you keep letting me drive." Puck knelt between Dave's legs and grinned at his expression. Dave imagined he looked a little shell-shocked.

"You – like – this?" Dave asked, glancing the short distance between Puck's face and his very own cock, which had never been quite so well-treated as it had been this week.

"What – sucking cock? Yeah, I do," Puck said simply. "I don't do stuff I don't like. But that wasn't what I had in mind." He lifted Dave's leg with no effort and propped his foot on the edge of the table. "This feels better if you're jacking off while I'm doing it."

_Doing what-? _was all he had time to think before Puck short-circuited his brain with his tongue. And then he was making noise, way more noise than he'd ever made while making out with _anyone,_ along with repeated pleas to Jesus and God, but he really had no idea what he was praying for them to do because he couldn't imagine wanting to do _anything_ other than what Puck was doing, right then, for the rest of his fucking life.

Puck came up for air long enough to patiently put Dave's hand on his own cock, and murmur the words, "Yeah, go on – that's fucking hot, man," before replacing his tongue between Dave's legs. Dave didn't want to think about the specific act because a) it kind of grossed him out and b) he thought, if the words describing it crossed his mind, he might come right away, and he definitely wanted this to last. But Puck was right, it _did_ feel better like this, and _god,_ Puck watching him, that was way hotter than he'd ever expected, so chances were pretty fucking good that this was going to be over soon.

Dave glanced down to see Puck's mohawk bobbing rhythmically, and the wet, firm pressure from his tongue – "Puck," he said, desperately, "Puck."

Puck's answering groan made Dave's cock twitch, and Puck made eye contact with him. Dave reveled in the dark, blown pupils and the flush on his cheeks. "God," he said, his breath coming hard, "say my name again."

Dave realized, with a start, Puck had his cock out and was working it, and the first amazed thought he had was, _Hey, I wanted to do that,_ and the second thought was, _God, you're absolutely beautiful._ But he couldn't say either one of those things, so he just opened his mouth and spoke the name that came to his lips: _"Noah."_

Puck's eyes flew open, and his shock was so great that Dave almost apologized, but then Puck came with a thrust and a shout, and that tipped Dave over the edge. Dave immediately added _simultaneous orgasm_ to the really-hot-things list.

Puck's head rested on Dave's thigh, his face cast down. Dave reached down and put his hand on Puck's neck, lightly, and Puck's hand came up with a nearly painful grip and held it.

"Nobody calls me that," Puck said, low and intense.

"I – I don't know why I did," Dave replied, feeling abashed.

"Well," Puck said, "I liked it." He looked up then, and Dave almost looked away, because there were tears in his eyes, and Dave didn't know if Puck might think that was too intimate, but then he rolled his eyes at himself, because _jeez,_ Puck's _tongue_ had just been in his _ass,_ and he couldn't think of anything more intimate than that.

"Okay," said Dave. "I guess – I guess you'd better call me Dave, then."

Puck rocked back on his heels, wiping at his eyes with his clean hand, and laughed shakily. "Huh."

Dave leaned over and did what he wanted to do, which was kiss Puck, and said what he was thinking, which was, "That was unbelievably hot, man."

"Hey, I told you I was good, didn't I?" Puck said, and he sounded a little more like his usual cocky self. "Trust me. We're only getting started."


	3. Chapter 3

_(Author's note: warnings for schmoop. Lots of it. Totally unexpected. But there it is. Oh, and just so's you know, there are at least, AT LEAST, three more chapters left. -amy)_

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><p>Dave never would have imagined, in a thousand years, that his summer routine would in any way resemble what it had become, two weeks after had Puck started dropping in on him. It went something like this: <em>breakfast with his dad, feed the cat, dustvacuum on alternate days, swim, fuck around with Puck, lunch together, more fucking around, have a leisurely afternoon, bring in the mail, water the plants every third day, dinner alone with a book, quiet evening, best sleep of his life, complete with creative sexy dreams. Rinse; repeat._

The leisure activities and quiet evenings occasionally involved some one-on-one on the basketball court or video games with Z, but it had become increasingly difficult to spend time with him while memories of his afternoon's exploits with Puck played in his head, like an individually tailored porn movie. He could have called Santana, but the girl had gaydar like nobody's business; she would have smelled it on him or something, and the secret of his _summer thing _would have been out.

And he didn't _want_ anybody else to know about it; he felt protective of it, not like it was a secret, exactly, but like it was a precious thing, something to be cradled and kept safe. He just wanted to have it for himself. So he pretty much holed up at the Lapeer's or at his house. It suited him okay; he'd never been super gregarious, and being alone didn't bother him.

Except that now, when he considered his evenings, he found himself thinking, _I wonder if Puck might want to check out that new horror movie. _Or, _I bet Puck would play a little one-on-one._ Or even, _maybe Puck would hang out and watch Big Bang Theory reruns on Thursday night. _But all of those things felt a little less like a summer thing and more like the kind of thing a _friend_ would do. He wasn't at all sure that Puck was into that, and he was a little nervous to ask him, because – because –

Because what they were doing was hands down the hottest, most fucking amazing sex of his _life,_ and he honestly didn't want to risk losing one day of it. Even if it was just a summer thing, there was still plenty of summer left. Weeks and weeks of afternoon fucking around was worth a few lonely evenings.

"So, Glee club," Dave said, over sandwiches the next afternoon.

"Yeah," Puck said, drawing out the word, like a long sexy question. Dave thought Puck could probably make _anything_ sexy, but he wasn't going to tell him that. He had enough of an ego as it was.

"What's that all about, anyway?" Dave leaned over and took a bite of the roast beef and peppercorn mustard. "You like all that singing and dancing?"

"Honestly? It's kind of annoying sometimes... but yeah, I like it." Puck tried to describe it, and he used his hands to mold the air. Dave watched his hands as he talked. "It's, like, all the times I ever wanted to say something really stupid to a girl, and all the best action parts of a movie, and the most intense sex I've ever had – that's what it's like, when Glee is _good._" He shrugged and took a bite of his pickle. "It's like that when I play guitar, too, only I don't get as many chances to perform. I like performing."

_Yeah, you do,_ Dave wanted to say, jokingly, to make Puck laugh, but he wasn't sure if they were there yet. Instead he handed over his own pickle to Puck and said, "Sounds like football, kind of."

"Yeah!" Puck agreed. "You remember when we did that dancing shit, with Kurt, in sophomore year? That was pretty awesome."

"Pretty awesome," Dave echoed, his stomach tightening. He'd managed to go several days without thinking of Kurt's words to him, and what he'd done to him in return. He put his sandwich down and took a swallow of water, trying to let it go, to think, _That's in the past. Just fucking move on already._

"I'm not much of a dancer, but I do okay," Puck went on, not noticing Dave's discomfort. "Finn's kind of a disaster, and Mike's ace, and I'm in between. I like the singing better."

"That's cool." Dave wrapped up the rest of his sandwich in paper and stuck it in the fridge.

Puck watched him across the kitchen, his speculative gaze taking in Dave's posture, his expression. Dave felt a little exposed when Puck did that. "What?" he asked.

"I'm playing an open mic tonight," Puck said. "If you wanted to come and hear me. It's at the Meeting Place on Market at 8:00."

Dave was at a loss for words, but when Puck said, "It's cool if you don't want to," he shook his head, drawn back to the table, to sit next to Puck.

"No, I – I do, I think it would be, uh." Dave couldn't articulate exactly _what_ it would be, but it definitely involved the word _hot._ "Yeah, I'll come. Thanks," he added.

"Don't thank me yet," Puck grinned, looking more relaxed. "I'm not the only performer, and some of them really, really suck."

"Not like you?" Dave said, and Puck kicked his shin. Then he leaned over and kissed Dave, hard and wet and just the way Dave liked it. Puck did most things the way Dave liked them. He wasn't sure if that was just because Puck did _everything_ well when it came to sex, or because they'd really lucked out in the compatibility department.

"I've got to get going," Puck said, standing and cracking his back. Dave quashed his disappointment with a nod – they hadn't had time to do anything but eat the sandwiches - and Puck seemed to understand, because he moved right up against Dave, slipping his arms around Dave's waist, stroking his back in a remarkably comforting way.

"I'll make it up to you tonight," he said against Dave's chest, and Dave felt a rolling thrill pass through him, digging into his gut and winding a spiral around his cock.

"Tonight?" he said. Puck was so fucking _warm_. His chuckle rumbled on Dave's skin.

"Sure. I'm always totally turned on after a show. You staying here tonight?"

"Um," Dave said, his mind racing. "Yeah."

"Cool." Puck reached up and tugged Dave's head down for another kiss. "Then you can tell me _just_ how bad I suck."

Dave would have laughed at the double entendre if he hadn't been quite so attuned to the way Puck said the word _suck,_ right up against his mouth, with plenty of sibilant s. He wasn't sure exactly what Puck had meant about tonight, but in his mind, it involved the guest room bed upstairs, and they hadn't yet ventured past the kitchen.

"Your mom won't freak out if you're late coming home?" he asked.

"My Ma's working double shift at the hospital," Puck said, grinning. "She'll never know."

After Puck left, Dave just sat at the kitchen table for several minutes, blinking. Previously unexplored avenues had suddenly opened up before Dave, avenues involving Puck in his bed all night, and every single one of them was frankly freaking Dave out a little. And making him rock hard, to the point that Dave had to drop his shorts and jack off right there in the kitchen, something he hadn't done at all in two weeks, not since their _summer thing_ had begun.

The words _top_ and _bottom_ were first and foremost in his mind, and the images that went along with them, as he stroked himself. They weren't things that had come up yet, not since that first awkward conversation, because, as Puck had said, _no fucking in the pool. _ And Puck hadn't pushed him past exploits with their hands and mouths, and Dave hadn't figured he would push either, because – well, _god,_ Puck's hands and mouth were pretty _damn_ hot.

But Dave's fantasies had definitely gone further than that, and his nightly dreams had involved both top and bottom, and he thought both sounded like things he _might _want to try. Maybe. Someday.

_Maybe tonight?_

He came with a wrenching gasp - and decided he'd better pick up some condoms and lube, just in case.

The rest of the day dragged, to the point that Dave called Azimio in desperation for something to do. They went to the mall and wandered around together, talking about nothing, and went back to Z's house and played his newest video game, until Z leaned back against the couch and sighed and said, "Man. What the fuck?"

"What?" Dave said, startled.

"You're acting like a girl on her fucking period. Either that or you're in love. And I'm sure I would have heard about it if you were dating somebody, right?" Z glared at him.

"Yeah, of course," he scoffed. "I'm – I'm not dating anybody."

That was about as far as it went with Z. He muttered some comments about Dave's panties and they went back to their video game, and Dave tried to put a little more attention into what they were doing. But Z's words rang in his head, and he didn't like the implications.

He almost didn't go to the open mic after all, but decided at the last minute that was a pussy way to behave, and Dave wasn't going to chicken out when things got complicated this time. He tried on four different shirts before settling on blue, and he was a little surprised to find the khakis he put on were big in the waist, but they still fit okay.

Market Square was only half-full when he got there at 7:50, but people were still coming in. He waved to a couple other kids from McKinley, but there was no one he knew well enough to say more than hello to, and nobody did anything other than nod in his direction. He wiped his hands on his pants, wondering why he was feeling so nervous when Puck was the one performing. He guessed Puck wasn't feeling nervous at all.

Dave bought a too-expensive cup of coffee and found a single seat right near the front, next to the guy running the old analog soundboard. "That looks complicated," he said, leaning over, when the guy gave him a friendly smile.

"Not really," he said, indicating the three parts. "Channel inputs, master controls, audio level meters. These are the preamps and equalizing sliders." He made changes to some of the settings and played a sample on the keyboard by his knee, hearing the output through a monitor at his feet.

"Cool," Dave said, his eyes taking it all in. He thought he understood, and he was intrigued, but knew this wasn't the time to pester the guy with questions, not just before a show.

The guy held out his hand. "Mark," he said.

"Dave." He shook it. "Do you run sound for shows a lot?"

"Every chance I get. Strictly amateur, though. I guess I could pursue it, see if I could break into a gig with a studio, or get a contract with some theater in Dayton or Columbus, but honestly, I'm happy to do local stuff for free. I just think it's fun: I get to play with cool equipment and make the performers sound fantastic."

There were no house lights, nor a stage to speak of, but one of the employees came to the mic amid a smattering of applause to announce the first act. "Enjoy the show," Mark said. "You here to see someone in particular?"

"Yeah…" Dave said vaguely, his eyes seeking, but not finding. Then – there he was, and Dave felt his insides turn to jello and his breathing do funny things, because _oh my fucking god,_ could he have looked any hotter, in his tight black jeans and equally tight green t-shirt? He was carrying an electric guitar in one hand and a case in the other, and he bent over his case to take out his acoustic guitar, and – Dave swallowed. _That ass should not be allowed out in public in those jeans,_ he decided.

"He your boyfriend?" Mark asked, and Dave wheeled to face him, trying not to panic, but Mark was just watching him with calm curiosity.

"Not – exactly." Dave held his breath, but no cruel epithets were forthcoming from Mark. On the contrary, he seemed pleased. "Is it that obvious?" he added, low and agonized.

"Well, yeah," Mark said, grinning. "But I'm looking for it, so maybe it's more obvious to me than it is to other people?"

Mark seemed very ordinary to Dave, not at all capital G-gay… but, then, so was Dave. He hoped.

"He's cute," Mark said, his attention on the soundboard.

"Yeah," Dave allowed. _The understatement of the summer._

Puck was not first, as he'd predicted, nor was he second, but Dave dutifully sat through several mediocre and one really bad performance before Puck got his turn. He decided, lunches notwithstanding, this was the first really friend-like thing they'd done, and the fact that Puck was the one who'd brought it up made him feel good, like maybe… maybe they _could_ be friends, after all.

He felt a creeping sense of insecurity about what Mark had said, and what Azimio had picked up on, even without Puck in the room. He couldn't let himself get too… attached to this summer thing. He was going to have to watch himself.

The audience had thinned somewhat by the time Puck stepped up in front of the mic, but from the moment he smiled his heart-stopping, charismatic grin and strummed the first chords of Billy Joel's "Only the Good Die Young," he had the entire place mesmerized. Dave decided he didn't need to worry about being found out, because at least half of the faces in the audience looked like they might be infatuated with Puck, and only some of them were girls. He projected a perfect blend of confidence and self-expression, and his skill on the guitar, to Dave's untrained ear, was flawless. Everyone was applauding at the end.

_Leave it to Puck to charm the whole fucking coffee house._ Dave was grinning, but he felt a little uneasy. The bulk of Puck's attention was on a cute, petite blonde in the front row, and he'd only looked at Dave long enough to give him a quick nod. He had no idea what to expect from Puck after the show, but right now, he might as well be invisible. _That was good – right?_

Puck's second song was a quieter bluegrass-style number, played with a little doohickey that slid up and down the neck of the guitar. He wasn't looking at anyone while he sang this one; Dave figured he was concentrating on the technical aspects of the song. But the lyrics were what caught Dave's attention.

_Some think I'm good, some say I'm bad _

_A little bit of trouble gets the whole town mad _

_Sometimes it's true, at times I lie _

_Some tell me it's a force from the other side _

_You can disapprove but you can't blame me _

_This isn't my fault - it's the devil in me _

_How can it be trouble if it feels so good? _

_Doing everything nobody else would _

_The preacher tells me that I'm having too much fun _

_He's a no good back-sliding son of a gun _

_You can point your finger but don't look at me _

_It isn't my fault - it's the devil in me _

They hadn't finished their conversation about religion, but Dave imagined the lyrics were meant to be about Puck – or, possibly, if he were going to flatter himself, Dave.

_Sometimes I'd like to paint the whole town red _

_Make a whole lot of noise and wake up the dead _

_It must be a sin to be so alive _

_They want to put out the fire and the passion inside _

_Some think I'm good, some say I'm bad _

_Some wish they had the kind of life that I've had _

_Sometimes it's true, everybody lies _

_Hiding from their neighbors what they do inside _

_You can blame yourself, but you can't blame me _

_It isn't my fault - it's the devil in me _

The applause was calmer, but no less enthusiastic. Puck was a hell of a performer. And – Dave glanced over at Mark, working the soundboard, moving levers and listening carefully to the entire performance, and leaned in to whisper, "He does sound fantastic."

"I'd love to take the credit," Mark whispered back, "but I think it's mostly him doing that."

He thought Puck hesitated before he put away his acoustic guitar and picked up the electric, plugging it into the amp. "This is by rockabilly giant Chris Isaak," he announced, to whistles and claps. "Thanks for supporting Market Square, and for supporting the artists you saw here tonight by purchasing our recordings at the refreshment stand. Hope to see you here next week."

Then Puck strummed his Gibson, and went right into a rocking beat. People started clapping along.

_I'm the original American boy_

_Love you baby, with all my heart_

_Ten times better than those movie stars_

_What you see, is what you are_

_I'm no James Dean baby,_

_But you know I care_

_If you ever need me, I'll be there, always there_

_Don't you know I love you more each day_

_Don't you know I will always feel this way_

_You can count on me I'm here to stay_

Dave felt a ridiculous thrill as Puck turned his eyes on him, but it was just part of his sweep of the crowd, and he quickly moved on. Dave couldn't pretend he was made of stone – the music was moving him, that was all.

That was all.

_I'll go crazy if I stay inside_

_Come on baby, take a ride_

_Take you places that we've never been_

_Don't be shy, hop on in_

_I ain't no Hollywood baby_

_You can't find a friend, they all say they love you_

_But they just pretend, mine never ends_

Puck got up from his seat on the stool, oozing natural exuberance and appeal. But when he moved from sitting to standing, all of a sudden, Dave felt Puck's gaze bearing down on him. He wondered if it was a trick of the environment, or of his imagination, but Dave felt pinned by Puck's regard, and his words. _But there's no fucking way Puck's really singing them to me,_ he thought.

_I'm the original American boy_

_Can't you see, you're made for me_

_Tell me baby that you want me too, _

_I'd do anything for you_

_I get a crazy feeling, when I look at you_

_Don't ask me if I want you, you know I do_

_Only you_

Dave found himself sinking back into his chair while the rest of the audience was clapping and getting up to shuffle toward the door. He watched Puck take a bow and wave at the audience before quickly packing up his guitar and heading over to where the other performers were signing their CDs. He wanted to get up and get in his car and drive _away,_ far away, but he wasn't sure he was ready to move just yet. It was as though his limbs had lost all of their muscle tone, and he had no choice but to sit, limply, and let the movement of the crowd wash past him.

Mark's words came to him first: _He's your boyfriend?_ Then Azimio's: _Either that or you're in love._ _In love._ It echoed in his head, and he cringed. _Christ – he wasn't! There was no way he was – he wasn't – _

"Fuck," Dave breathed unhappily. Enough people had left now that his murmur was audible to Mark, and he glanced quizzically at Dave.

"You okay?"

"Not really," he said. "I – I think I fucked up. Like, bad."

"Jeez," Mark said, eyebrows raised. "From all the way over here?"

"I think it started before tonight," he admitted in a low voice. "I think I made a mistake even letting it get this far." He took a deep breath. "I'd better go. Thanks for a good show."

He took the images of himself and Puck - the pool, the kitchen, the possibilities he'd imagined in his bed, Puck's voice just for him – and crumpled them up into a ball, like an old cigarette carton. There was no point in letting himself get caught up in – in the summer thing – no, the _fantasy_ they were building, just to have to dismantle it at the end of the summer. He really didn't think he could handle it. It had only been two weeks and already he was feeling a little raw at the thought of ending it. _It was better this way._

Dave didn't make eye contact with Puck on the way out the door, but he saw Puck watching him, and he looked a little startled. Dave just fixed his eyes on the doorway, and then beyond that, the sidewalk under his feet, taking him back to his car.

He was more than raw; he was _pissed._ How could he have let – how had he allowed himself to -? He gritted his teeth. Now he was at his car, yanking open the door, climbing in.

"Dave?"

Puck's voice was out of breath. He'd run after him, carrying both his guitar cases. Dave closed his eyes.

"Hey," he said.

"You came," Puck said, and something in his voice, something surprised and tender, made Dave look up. Puck was smiling at him.

"Yeah, I came." Dave couldn't stop himself from smiling back, but it felt forced and weak. Puck's smile faltered, and they just stared at each other for a moment.

Dave cleared his throat. "You were, uh… you were really good." He watched Puck struggling with the guitar cases, and he sighed. "Throw those in the back seat. I'll take you to your car."

"Okay," Puck said. He slipped into the front seat, closed the door, and looked at Dave, clearly puzzled. "Uh – Dave? What am I missing here?"

"I need to tell you something," Dave found himself saying. "About… about Kurt."

"About… Kurt?" Now Puck looked positively baffled. "Dude."

"No, let me – I've got to say this." Dave held up a hand, still not looking directly at Puck, but he steeled himself and went on. "Last year – do you know why Kurt left to go to Dalton?"

"You were being a prick to him." Dave could feel Puck's eyes on him. "Finn said you told him you were going to kill him."

Dave winced. "I didn't mean that," he said. "I – I was freaking out, about… everything. About me. He was, you know, so _out_, and I was so… not. I didn't know why he had to be _like_ that. And then his boyfriend, Blaine, he just showed up and told me I should… talk about it, and… well, there was no fucking way I was going to do that."

Puck was still watching. Dave couldn't tell if he was judging him or just being patient, but he wasn't saying anything. He gritted his teeth and plowed on. "I wasn't ready to come to terms with who I was. Who… who I am." He looked up at Puck, just a momentary glimpse, but it made him shudder. "Did you know I kissed him?"

"Dave," Puck sighed. "Kurt's moved past all that shit. He wanted to come back to McKinley."

"Did you know _why_ I kissed him?" Dave pressed, feeling the tears gathering, threatening, the same storm that had burst forth outside math class that day before prom. "He said stuff to me. In the locker room. Said I was a – that I was fat and disgusting, and not his type." The actual words were seared into his memory, but he wasn't going to repeat them to Puck, not ever.

"Oh," Puck said. He sounded like he _got_ it, now.

"And I just – he wasn't even _my_ type, not that I would have known it if had bit me on the ass back then, but – he was a guy who liked guys, you know? And I just thought – I guess I thought, if I could just get him to think I was… hot, maybe… maybe I was worth something." Dave put both hands on the steering wheel and leaned in, huddling under his shame and the memory of that awful fucking day. "So I kissed him. And I tried to kiss him again, but he – he pulled away. He didn't like it."

Puck's voice was soft. "Dude. Nobody wants to be forced. Well, maybe if both people are into it, but you know what I mean."

"I know," Dave agreed. He laughed, and it hurt coming out of his throat. "Believe me, I know. I told him I was sorry, and he told me… he knew it. But he never said he forgave me."

"You – don't want to kiss him again, do you?" Puck asked, and Dave stared at him. Puck looked uncertain, nervous, even.

"No," Dave said emphatically. "I want to kiss _you. _Like, way too much."

"I don't think there is a way too much," Puck said. He wasn't looking away. He wasn't looking scared, or grossed out. He looked… hungry.

"I think there might be," Dave said, his voice cracking. "I think – I might have crossed a line. Like, a big one. And I'm kind of freaking out here."

Puck's hand went out and grabbed Dave's shaking one on the steering wheel. He felt Puck's fingers interlock with his, and he gripped Puck's hand until their knuckles went white. Puck didn't try to pull away.

"Dave," Puck said, tugging on his hand. "Look at me. Come _on, _would you just fucking _look _at me?"

Unwillingly, Dave looked. Puck was smiling, and it almost hurt to feel that kindness, when he felt so terrible about himself, but at the same time it was exactly what he needed. What he wanted… so fucking much.

"I realized some pretty big stuff about myself last year, too," he said, and he squeezed Dave's hand. "About, like, attraction, and what I was _really_ into, instead of what I thought I was _supposed_ to be into. You know?"

"I know," Dave said softly. Puck's eyes were super green against his green t-shirt. Dave decided Puck should wear that color, like, all the time.

"There was this thing with Mercedes, that lasted for, like, a week. But I realized she was pretty hot, even though she was, like, curvy. Then I got into Lauren, and I realized it wasn't _even though_ she was curvy, it was _because_ she was curvy. Like, I finally noticed what I liked, and after that, there was just no going back."

Dave totally understood that, but he just nodded and listened, sensing this was Puck's big story, and how he might not have ever said it out loud before. He felt a nearly overwhelming wave of… something… for Puck, that related to him saying these things, and Dave listening, and being his friend, and something else, but he wasn't going to let it be scary or bad, just let it wash over him and just _be,_ just be here, with Puck.

"I thought – it might be like that with you for guys," Puck said.

"Yeah," Dave nodded. He was the one to squeeze Puck's hand this time.

"I mean, I always knew I liked guys, and girls," Puck said, shrugging. "It's funny it took me so much longer to figure out I liked them both… big."

"_Oh."_ Dave stared at Puck, and realized, with a tingling rush, that Puck had been trying to tell him something all this time. "You mean…"

Puck reached out and grabbed a fistful of Karofsky's good blue shirt, and hauled him across the gearshift, right into his face. His hungry look was back, and his gaze flickered all over Dave's body: his arms, his chest, his legs, his mouth – and everywhere it landed, Dave felt the tingling increase, like an electric shock. He licked his lips. "Dave," he said, "you are _totally_ my type. Like, _completely."_

"Holy shit," Dave breathed. "You – you're totally mine."

"I kind of figured that out already," Puck said, smirking, and their mouths fell together like two halves of a plastic Easter egg, just snapped shut, fitting perfectly, absolutely. It took Dave several seconds before he remembered exactly _why_ this was a bad idea, but his conviction was rapidly ebbing before the rising tide of their fucking _spectacular_ connection.

"I don't think – Puck, wait," he protested, and Puck, reluctantly, panting, did.

"You can't tell me you're not interested," Puck demanded, and Dave shook his head violently.

"No – that's just it." He reached out a tentative hand, closed his eyes – and nearly fractured into tears when Puck plucked his hand out of the air and placed it on his cheek. "God. This – I don't think I can _do_ this, if…"

"If what?" Puck's voice was aggravated, driving Dave back. "We both want this. It's hot, it's good – right?" Dave nodded, and Puck sighed loudly. "So what is the fucking _problem?"_

"The _problem_ is that I'm fucking in _love_ with you," Dave shouted, and Puck recoiled, squeezing back against the passenger window, bending to near breaking by the force of Hurricane Dave. Dave felt all the emotion he'd bottled up over the past two weeks – hell, over his whole fucking _life –_ come pouring out through his hand into Puck, and with a desperate, terrified cry, he pulled Puck toward him –

And Puck just _dove right in,_ practically crawling across the gearshift into Dave's fucking _lap_, his hands and his mouth equal partners in making their home on Dave's body. There were whining, desperate moaning sounds, and Dave had no idea which of them was making them, but it didn't matter, because they were both going for exactly the same thing.

"Fucking A, Dave," Puck groaned, clutching at his collar, pressing their heads together, "I've been trying to tell you that all _night._ Didn't you _hear_ that song?"

Dave felt something inside him tear free and rise up, breaking the surface tension, and he began to laugh. "I thought – maybe it was for me, but then, I figured there was no way –"

Puck shook his head, still pressed to Dave's, and the sensation of Dave's forehead against Puck's soft mohawk was first on a brand new list, one that would go alongside the list of hot-things-about-Puck: the list of things-Dave-loved-about-Puck.

"Yeah," Puck said, a gentle exhale, buried under meaning and feeling. "It was all for you. All of it. You've turned me into a fucking sap, Dave."

Every part of Dave felt like it was floating, buoyed by the truth they'd shared, the secrets revealed. Even his cheeks were rising, beyond his control, a smile of pure, unadulterated joy. He laughed again. "I can't – I don't know if I believe this is real."

"Hmmm," Puck said, touching Dave's face. "Let me try this." He leaned in, his lips warm against Dave's ear. Even before he said anything, Dave shivered, but Puck's words came out as a bare whisper. "I fucking love you, Dave."

"_God,"_ he choked. "That's, like, ninja feelings, coming at me under the cover of night."

"You bet your sweet ass it is," Puck said, and his hand stroked a wide swath of tingling sensation along Dave's head. Dave wasn't at all sure that his head wasn't going to lift off his body like a balloon and float away. He moaned and pressed his lips to Puck's hand.

"You said something – earlier, about – tonight?" Dave held his breath. "At the Lapeer's?"

"Hmmm, I did say that," Puck mused, through his beaming smile. "I'm thinking I might be planning to stay for a while… and maybe not leave anytime soon."

"I was kind of thinking the same thing," Dave said, closing his eyes on the dizzying visions that he was extracting from the scrap heap of his imagination. "And – do you suppose some of the, um, _activities _we might be doing…?"

Puck's voice dropped to a confident purr. "Oh, they're _definitely_ going to include you fucking me into next Wednesday."

Dave thought for a moment that he might pass out from the redistribution of blood from his brain to his cock. "You're… you're serious?"

"I'm always serious about sex, _Karofsky,"_ Puck growled, and didn't that go _straight_ to Dave's core and tug him to full attention.

Dave put the key in the ignition and revved the engine, and let himself respond, growling right back: "Well, I guess you're in for some serious fucking, _Noah." _

He heard a strangled gasp, and grinned in smug satisfaction. _I guess Puck isn't _always_ the one in control,_ he thought blissfully._ Every now and then… I get to drive._

* * *

><p>Song credits:<p>

"Only the Good Die Young" by Billy Joel. - http:/ www. youtube. com/ watch?v=ke-XHpwog54

"The Devil in Me" by Cliff Eberhardt - http:/www. youtube. com/ watch?v=m6uzUv4AsdE

"American Boy" by Chris Isaac. - http:/www. youtube. com/ watch?v=_CrytHVUU4M


	4. Chapter 4

Stopping at the drugstore to pick up condoms had never been so fraught with anticipation - or anxiety, Dave realized, as he scanned the shelf for his favorite brand. The lube, he'd never bought before; the girls he'd done stuff with had never asked for it. He guessed they hadn't needed it for, er, the _ordinary_ kind of sex. And the _other_ kind, the kind he was _about_ to have, well – none of the girls he'd dated had suggested they try that. Even though he might have been interested, he wouldn't have brought it up, being a gentleman.

He'd always felt a little perverse, once he'd realized how hot _that_ kind of sex seemed to him. For a while, when he'd been younger, he thought he was the only one who was at all interested in it. Even when he learned it had a name (and for a while he thought it was "angel sex," because he'd misread the word in the reference text he'd been consulting, and didn't _that_ bring up some interesting conversations at church), he figured nobody else would _really _want to… put things up there.

Then, later, as he'd heard more talk in the locker room and discovered the wonderful world of porn, he'd realized it was an actual thing, that some people really _did_ like it, and that even though liking it didn't make you gay, it was a pretty common thing for gay guys to do. So that made him even _more_ interested.

But now that he was actually getting ready to _do _it (and every time he had that thought, a thrill ran through him, _zing!_, straight to the anatomy in question), he was starting to feel… apprehensive. Because, apparently, he was going to get to be the one on top, which meant it was his job to make it good for the other guy. Only problem was, Dave had zero experience in this. And the other guy? Pretty much had done _everything_ already. He sighed and riffled through the lube selection with a sense of futility. _Nothing like coming into this feeling like a remedial student._

Because, when he thought about it, Dave realized he was used to being _good_ at just about everything he did. Not just good – the _best. _He was an excellent athlete. He worked hard at school and got nearly perfect grades. He was on student government. Teachers generally liked him, and his work with the Bullywhips this year had raised him in the estimation of most students. And, even though his enthusiasm for the act had been fairly limited, he'd never had a girl complain about what they did in the back seat of his car or in stolen moments behind closed doors. He'd even been fucking _prom king. _Yep, Straight Dave – he was a success, in every way.

But now… his experience with Puck had, so far, been wonderfully instructive and satisfying, but he still felt uncertain. Could he, no matter how good he was at being Straight Dave, make it translate into what Puck seemed to think he could do? Was there any way he could measure up? He wanted to be _awesome_ for Puck, but Dave guessed Puck had had a rather lot of _awesome _in his lifetime. That wasn't going to be enough for Dave. He wanted to be _the best._ And, for one of the first times ever, he wasn't sure if he could do it.

"Uh… hi, Karofsky," he heard down the aisle, and turned to look with a sinking heart, even though he recognized the voice and knew just who he'd see.

"Hey, Hudson," Dave said to Finn, as he casually held the hand with the lube behind his back. He figured condoms were a reasonably ordinary thing to be buying in a drugstore, so he just held on to the box.

"How's your summer going?" Finn asked him. Dave wasn't sure if the question was pointed or just friendly, but Finn's face was pleasant enough, so Dave just kept his answer vague.

"Fine. I've been swimming a lot. How about you?"

"Rachel and I…" he started, then grimaced. Dave tried to hide his grin and look sympathetic. "Well, never mind. It's been up and down. But, um… I saw you at the open mic tonight."

"You were there?" Dave felt an uneasy shock. "I – didn't see you."

"We snuck in the back at the last minute; we didn't even sit down until just before Puck came on. Rachel doesn't have a lot of tolerance for performers who are less than awesome, so we tried to just be there for his set." Finn grinned. "He was pretty amazing, huh?"

"Uh, sure," Dave said. He tried desperately for just the right level of interest in Puck's performance, somewhere between _Oh, he was on stage? I didn't notice,_ and _Yeah, he was beyond awesome, and I'm about to go fuck his brains out, so won't you excuse me? _They said pithy goodbyes.

As Dave stopped at the counter to pay for his purchase, he couldn't help but wonder what would happen with Puck tomorrow, or next week, or next month, now that this new information was on the table. He thought of Puck's words into his ear, _I fucking love you,_ and he felt his face flush and his mouth fold into what was sure to be a stupid-ass grin.

"Big night planned?" the guy at the counter said with a smirk, bagging his condoms and lube.

"Yeah," Dave said, feeling belligerent. "What's it to you?"

"Nothing," the guy hastened to say. "You just look – like, really happy."

"Oh." He didn't know what to say to that, other than, "Thanks."

Dave thought about what the counter guy had said as he climbed into his car. Dave had always thought of himself as a pretty happy kid. He liked football and hockey and math and playing chess and working on the car with his dad. He really liked those things. And, when he'd been able to put down the crap about bullying kids at school, and just remember who he'd been, before all that began, it had been easier to go back to being happy. And he was, mostly.

But there'd still been something looming over him, this spectre of his sexuality, both the question and the answer of it – who was he, and what was he going to do about it? And now it looked as though he'd answered both questions in rather short order. He chuckled to himself in amazement.

"I'm gay," he said experimentally to no one, sitting there in the front seat. He relaxed his shoulders, closed his eyes and took a breath in and out. "My name's Dave. I'm gay. This is my… boyfriend, Puck. Hey, have you met my boyfriend? This is Puck. I'm his boyfriend. Yeah, we're together."

It was almost impossible to think about saying those words aloud to anyone, especially at school. Just the thought made him feel like throwing up. But – _almost_ impossible was better than it had been just days ago, when it had felt like there was _zero_ possibility. Maybe, by next month, the possibility would be even bigger.

And what did _Puck_ want? He couldn't make any assumptions based on a few words exchanged, no matter how important those words had been. Maybe – he swallowed - maybe it was still just a summer thing. Maybe Puck didn't want anyone else to know, either. Or maybe – maybe he did? Maybe he didn't have any problem with people knowing?

Dave pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes, and sighed. _Jesus. How do girls deal with all this fucking thinking about relationships all the time?_

* * *

><p>"Sarah!" Puck slammed the fifth drawer, in a panic now. "Sarah, did you take my fucking black tank top again?"<p>

"Uh, which one?" she hedged, standing in his doorway. He glared at her.

"You _know_ which one. Where is it? Is it in the wash or on your floor? Dammit, you know I hate it when you borrow that shirt."

"It looks way better on me than it does on you," she said, holding it out. He snatched it from her hand. "I only wore it once."

"Great," he sighed. "Now I'm going to smell like a fucking girl."

"She won't even notice," Sarah assured her. "If she's on a date with _you,_ she'll be wearing perfume, and it'll cover up any residual girl."

Puck didn't answer, and he tried to ignore the rising blush on his neck and cheeks. He shoved the mostly-clean tank top into his duffel, along with underwear and Dave's favorite cutoffs (the super-short ones; Dave couldn't take his eyes off of Puck's ass when he wore them). Then he dug in his nightstand and found the lube and a box of condoms and stuffed them in as well.

"I take it you're not coming home tonight?" Sarah's eyes were round as she glanced at the bag and back to Puck's red face.

"Maybe," he said gruffly.

"Huh. You're not going to tell me who she is?"

"Maybe," he repeated, after a brief hesitation. He sorted through his music and pulled out a manuscript book, then tucked it in the duffel, on the bottom. He wasn't sure if he'd _actually_ ever share what was inside with Dave, but it made him feel better to know he had it with him, just in case. Because, _holy shit_, his whole world had shifted since two hours ago, and who knew what he might be ready to do two hours from now?

"Why are you smiling like that?" Sarah accused. "You look like you've got the best secret in the world. Don't I get to hear it?"

"Um." Puck sat down abruptly on his bed. He rubbed his forehead and took a deep breath. "Okay. Well, there's this guy." He glanced at Sarah, who nodded. "He's gay. Except he's really closeted and he – he hasn't ever dated any other guys before."

"Are you, like, trying to get him to come out?" Sarah asked. "Is that why the obscenely short cutoffs?"

Puck grinned. "Well. We've been, uh, messing around for the last couple weeks…"

"Are you guys gonna _do it?"_ Sarah looked awed.

"Sarah," he warned. "There's such a thing as TMI with your little sister."

"No there isn't," she pouted. "You're just embarrassed." Then she crunched up her eyebrows in confusion. "Wait a second. _Why_ are you embarrassed?"

Puck let his eyes wander to the floor, feeling the smile starting again. Sarah put both hands on his chest and pushed him. "Noah!" she protested. "Tell me!"

"I'm, um. He – fuck, Sarah, get _off _me – okay, okay!" He capitulated under her fingers, which had started to tickle his ribs in the exact spot that made him collapse in completely embarrassing giggles. "I'm – he told me he's in love with me."

"Are you, too?" She looked starry-eyed.

"Yeah," he admitted, smiling. "I am."

"Well, did you tell him?"

"I sang him a song. At the open mic this week. A love song."

"Whoa," she said. "Like, did you dedicate it to him in front of everybody?"

"Well, no," he said.

She cocked her head. "Did you stare soulfully into his eyes while you sang across a crowded room?"

"Not – exactly."

Now her eyes were narrowed. "So, how _exactly_ did you sing him a song?"

"Uh, well, I told him it was for him, later."

"Sorry," she shook her head, making her black curls dance. "Not cutting it. You're gonna have to do it again. Where's your guitar?"

"Already in the car," he said, bemused.

"Good. You'd better be ready to sing something else, too, if that's not good enough." She snorted. "Fuck, Noah, you can't even get it right when you're in _love."_

Puck hid his face in his hands. "He's really awesome," he said through his fingers. "Really." _He's way too fucking good for me,_ he didn't say.

"Well, he'd better be," she declared. "When do I get to meet him?"

"He's house-sitting for the Lapeers. You could come by tomorrow. Uh – after lunch."

"I get to swim in the pool _and_ scope out your new guy?" She was delighted. "I'm so there."

As Puck slung his duffle over his shoulder and headed out the door, she stopped him once more, with a worried look on her face. "Does this mean you and Lauren are…?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "I think we're gonna have to talk and figure it out. For now, it's cool – but after this summer? I don't know."

"He's that big a deal?"

"I think so. It's hard to know with Dave." Puck didn't want to say the words he was thinking: _He's probably gonna dump me before the end of the summer anyway._ Because people didn't stick around with Puck. Dave Karofsky was like Quinn – smart, popular and upwardly mobile. They had better places to be. He shrugged. "I'm just going to have to see."

* * *

><p>Puck's truck was parked on the street when Dave pulled into the Lapeer's driveway, but the house was dark. He went around to the side yard and opened the gate to the back deck to find Puck paddling around in the pool. Dave felt a blast of unreality. <em>Naked guy,<em> he observed, distantly, as though he were the video camera. _Naked hot guy, in the pool. Smiling at you. Wanting you. What the fuck? Whose life is this?_

"You don't get enough of pools during the day?" Dave said, trying to be light, but he could hear the ridiculous saccharine quality saturating every word. _Jesus. I might as well just start calling him Muffin or something._

"Swimming at night is the best," Puck said, in sybaritic satisfaction. "C'mon in."

"I thought you said no fucking in the pool?" _Did he really just say that?_

Puck's grin widened, and he leaned on the edge, chin in his hand. "There's all kinds of things we can do first."

"I seem to recall we've been doing them for two weeks." Dave squatted next to the pool and reached out a hand; Puck took it, wet and warm, clasped like an embrace. His eyes were liquid brown pools in the dim light of the deck.

"Fifteen days," Puck corrected. "And don't tell me you're sick of those things yet. I've been trying _so_ hard to show you a good time."

"That's not quite what I meant," Dave grinned. "I, uh, really like what we've done. And we could, um, just keep doing those things. I mean, it's been great. I was just kind of hoping…"

Puck was watching him with a distinctly expectant expression. "Yes?" he drawled.

Dave sighed and rolled his eyes. "You're gonna make me say it, aren't you?"

"Uh-huh," Puck confirmed with a smile, and arched an eyebrow. "Come on. What the fuck were you _kind of hoping,_ Mr. Valedictorian Smart Guy?"

Dave let out a startled laugh. "You said… you wanted… me. On top?"

"Yeah," Puck said. "I do. Do you want that too?"

"Yeah," Dave whispered. "I – yeah. A lot."

"Oh, thank God," Puck said. Dave saw the muscles in his shoulders and arms tense, and had one second to think _damn, that's really lovely,_ before Puck launched himself out of the water onto the side of the pool, knocking Dave flat on his ass. Drenched, naked and panting, Puck pinned Dave down and had his way with his mouth, until Dave had to practically tap out to get Puck to stop and let him breathe.

"Whoa," gasped Dave, tingling from mouth to cock, "all right, then. Looks like I've got you out of the pool."

"Looks like," Puck agreed, grinding against Dave's hips in long, shuddering strokes. "Question is, can you get me upstairs before I make you come?"

Dave went still as stone, and Puck's eyes registered this in a look of _oh, shit_ before Dave stood straight up with Puck over one shoulder in a fireman's carry, squawking in protest. Dave cheerfully ignored him and headed for the house.

"You really shouldn't have asked, Puckerman," he said briskly. "There's not much I _can't_ do, if I want it bad enough."

"Dude." Puck's voice was weak, but he was naked and wet and twisting around like a sonofabitch trying to get free. Dave actually had to exert a little force with his one arm to get him to stay still.

"Shut the fuck up," Dave said, letting the affection he was feeling color his words. "I'm getting a glass of water and then I'm taking you to bed. Got it?"

"Uh," said Puck. Dave could hear the smile on his face. "Okay."

"Glad we understand each other." He hoisted Puck up a little higher onto his shoulder and filled the glass under the tap.

"Dude… you can put me down any time. I'm not fucking going anywhere."

"Nope," Dave said. "You're not." A warm glow filled his chest and spread down his limbs, and he drank the glass down. "I'm not, either," he added, quietly, when he was done.

"Oh," said Puck, in a completely different tone of voice.

Somehow on their way up the stairs Dave's hold on Puck shifted, and his legs went around Dave's middle, Dave's hands supporting Puck under his perfect bare ass, and Dave discovered he could kiss and walk just fine. By the time they got to the top, Puck's arms were wrapped around Dave's neck, and Dave let him slide to the floor, pressing Puck's unbelievable body against him one more time before stepping away.

"Is that okay?" Dave had to ask, letting his confidence slip just a bit. Puck looked questioningly at him, and he clarified, "That I'm not… going anywhere."

"Yeah," Puck said, gently. "I mean, we're gonna have to talk about it, but… yeah. That's good, man."

"Okay," Dave said, and took a deep breath. "Okay. Good." He let his eyes travel down over Puck's unselfconscious naked body, his hard cock, and Puck hummed appreciatively as he watched Dave looking.

"You like that?"

Dave's hand came up of its own volition, and he stroked gently from Puck's throat down the curve of his right pectoral, to his pierced nipple. "This," he said, raising an eyebrow at Puck. "Didn't you have it on the other side, once?"

"Hmm," Puck grinned. "You were paying attention. Yeah, some asshole ripped the other one out in juvie. Don't ask. But I liked it too much not to have the other one done."

"Does it feel… good?" Dave put out one daring finger, watching Puck's face, but he only nodded, showing trust and desire, wanting him to touch. Dave did, tracing a circle around the nipple before tugging on it, feeling a matching rush of heat as Puck moaned softly. Dave's hand continued on its journey down the center of his body and cupped Puck's erection loosely in his hand. He felt comfortable there, now, after fifteen days of visits, fifteen mornings of touching Puck in the pool, fifteen afternoons of being touched in return in the Lapeer's kitchen. Fifteen days of wanting Puck.

"I still can't believe we're doing this," Dave said. Puck's expression was enigmatic, but he nodded again and leaned in to kiss Dave, gently, then more insistently, his teeth grazing Dave's neck, leaving tingling welts on his throat. Dave found his legs wobbling and he had to lean against the wall to keep from dropping to his knees. Then, he glanced down, thought, _Hmm, _and did just that.

"Dave – _ohhhh," _Puck groaned, and Dave just took a bath in the sound of Puck losing his power of speech as he took Puck's cock into his mouth. The sound went on and on, and Dave kept trying new things with his lips and tongue and, once, his teeth, reveling in his ability to make Puck emit different noises and feel some apparently fucking _amazing_ things. Eventually Dave felt Puck's trembling hand on his head.

"Bed?" he choked out. Dave felt a strange sense of resentment at being asked to let Puck's cock out of his mouth, but he allowed him to pull away at last. Dave nudged his ass in the direction of the guest room, and they stumbled down the hall into the room and -

- and there was the _bed,_ looming up right in the center of everything, and all the things that Dave had imagined them doing on it (not to mention the things he had himself done on it, in the middle of the night, dreaming of Puck) were suddenly right smack dab in the middle of Dave's abused consciousness. He felt the descending panic, and tried to stave it off as best he could. "Um," he said, looking desperately at the door.

"It's okay," Puck said, calm and certain, tugging Dave down onto the bed. "Dave. It's okay. Look – it's just _me,_ okay? No fucking big deal."

"It's – the biggest deal," he said, hearing his voice shake, and hating himself for it. He tried to get rid of it, making a noise of frustration. "It's _you. _I want – to make it good." He shook his head, tossing like a dog worrying a bone, gritting his teeth. "Not just good – the best. For you."

"Dude," Puck said, and he sounded almost offended. "You don't have to worry about that. Everything you do – it's good. Like, really good." He wrapped his arms around Dave, pulling him into the heat of his body, and tucked his head into the space between Dave's neck and his chest. "You, man."

"Me, what?" Dave said.

"I love _you_," Puck replied, and Dave felt the smile bending his cheek against Dave's skin. "I don't care how good you are, at anything. It just matters that it's _you."_

Dave realized with sudden horror that he was going to cry, and worse, that Puck wasn't going to let him go, and so he was going to cry _in front of Puck,_ which he figured would be just about the biggest mood-killer outside of vomiting on him. He did the next best thing to running, which was to bury his face in Puck's warm, golden skin and close his eyes, feeling the shuddering sobs overtake him.

"Okay," Puck said again, in soothing tones, stroking his head. "It's all right, man. It's gonna be okay. I'll take care of it."

It was the kindest cruelty, and even though he figured Puck didn't really mind, he still felt awful when the tears finally stopped and he turned his head to avoid Puck's compassionate gaze.

"Sometimes it's just – a lot," he said. "I'm still getting used to this."

"I know," Puck insisted.

"It's not that I don't want it." Dave dug an angry hand into his wet eyes and dashed away the frustrating tears. "I do. I _really_ fucking want you."

Puck's voice dropped half an octave, making his words rumble against Dave's chest. "God, Dave. I want you, too."

Then he was gently letting go of Dave, moving away, and Dave heard him murmur, "Just a second; I'll be right back." He slipped out the door and down the stairs. For a second Dave wondered if he was going to take off. _ I thought that was my job,_ he thought ruefully. But Dave didn't – and, with concentrated attention, he even unbuttoned his shirt and left it like that, figuring if Puck could be fucking _naked_ in front of him that he could at least return the favor to some small degree.

But when Puck came back, he had on his shorts, and he was carrying his guitar. "I told my little sister about you," he said.

"Oh." Dave blinked. "How – how did that go?"

"She knows everything about me," Puck explained. "It wasn't any surprise. She totally knew something was up. She wants to meet you – I told her she could come over tomorrow after lunch."

"Okay," Dave said gamely. "Meeting the family. I'm in."

"That's pretty much everybody, just her and my Ma. And I don't think she'll be too surprised, either. She once walked in on me with – well. Never mind. Ancient history." Puck set his guitar case down and snapped open the latches, glancing at Dave's open shirt. "Dude," he said softly. "Is that for me?"

"Well, it's not for _me,"_ he snapped, then sighed, immediately regretting it. "Sorry."

Puck put out one hand and laid it on Dave's chest. "Thanks." Dave noticed Puck's breath going a little more quickly, and when Dave tried to respond, Puck shook his head and nudged him away. "I'm trying to _slow down,_" he stressed, "and that's _not helping._"

"Uh, sorry," Dave said again, moving to the chair. "I'll just… sit over here."

"That's fine," Puck nodded. "Sarah said… well, I told her I sang you a song, but she pointed out that I didn't actually. So I guess I should try it again. Except that was kind of a loud song, so… anyway." He coughed, setting his guitar on his lap, and Dave realized this was Puck being nervous, talking too much and starting sentences with prepositions. "So I picked something else."

Dave was more touched by Puck's hesitant energy than he was by the idea that Puck was about to sing him another song. He raised an expectant eyebrow. "Anything I would know?"

Puck strummed a slow doo-wop rhythm. "Well, on short notice, I go with the old standbys. This one happens to be Billy Joel, with a little Beethoven thrown in for good measure." He checked his tuning once more, then began, watching Dave's face with a shy smile:

_Didn't I say I wasn't ready for a romance_

_Didn't we promise we would only be friends_

_And so we danced, though it was only a slow dance_

_I started breaking my promises right there and then_

As the lyrics unfolded, Dave felt his insides turning to water. Something – something he'd never experienced before – about being _sung to,_ about watching someone's lips form words and phrases _just for you _(because there was no doubt, this time, that it was all for Dave) - was inexplicably, heart-poundingly touching. And Dave knew the song had probably been written before he was even born, but _damn,_ it sure sounded like Mr. Billy Joel knew them, had been watching them for fifteen days, and had penned this convenient tune just for Puck to pick up and sing to him.

_Didn't I swear there would be no complications_

_Didn't you want someone who's seen it all before_

_Now that you're here it's not the same situation_

_Suddenly I don't remember the rules anymore_

_This night is mine_

_It's only you and I_

_Tomorrow is a long time away_

_This night can last forever_

Puck's voice filled the small space with sound, and Dave was rocked by its versatility and range. He blushed madly as something like _Damn, my boy can really sing_ passed through his head, because Puck was _not_ his boy, and why was he suddenly so fucking possessive? Puck was _Lauren's_, if he was anyone's.

But apparently that's what this song was about. Maybe – maybe just for tonight, it was okay if he wanted to pretend that Puck was… his? He found himself biting his lip and leaning forward on his knees, trying not to miss the second verse _or_ dissolve into fucking tears again.

_How many nights have I been lonely without you_

_I tell myself how much I really don't care_

_How many nights have I been thinking about you_

_Wanting to hold you but knowing you would not be there_

_This night you're mine_

_It's only you and I_

_I'll tell you to forget yesterday_

_This night we are together_

_This night is mine_

_It's only you and I_

_Tomorrow is such a long time away_

_This night can last forever_

Puck ended quietly, and Dave wasn't sure if he should applaud or what, but it felt like kind of a dumb thing to do in a room with just the two of them there. So he just cleared his throat and said, in a voice far too hoarse for eloquence, "Thank you. I'm really… just, thanks."

Puck's smile was tentative, but honest, and Dave just watched it, never wanting to forget what it looked like. "Sarah was right," he said. "I needed to do it again, to make sure you knew I was singing it for _you_. But – well, I guess I figured you weren't quite ready for that, in public. But... Dave, I'm gonna sing you a song, for real, in front of everybody at that open mic. Someday." His smile grew at Dave's surprise. "Soon," he insisted.

"You want that?" Dave said, floored. "With… with _me?"_

Puck set the guitar off to the side. "Hey, I'm not the one who has secrets here. I mean, I've got nothing to hide." He looked meaningfully at Dave. "I know what I like. How about you?"

Dave felt himself start to panic again, but this time he took a firm hold of his figurative shoulders and gave them a shake. _Puck's right – it's just him. You've been doing this for fifteen days. There's no difference here. Just be honest._ He breathed through the fear and made himself meet Puck's green-brown (more brown tonight) eyes.

"Yeah," he said. "I know what I like."

Puck cocked his head. "Well?"

"I'm looking at him."

Puck's eye roll was accompanied by an appreciative smile. "That's not exactly what I meant. I know you… dig me. Are you ready for other people to know that? I mean, let's say I _did_ sing this song to you, at the open mic, and I made it really _fucking clear_ it was for you. And… I don't know, say, one of the guys from the hockey team was there in the audience. What would you say to him?"

"I'd say, 'What the hell are you doing here, you fucking fairy?'" Dave suggested with a grin, but Puck shook his head impatiently.

"Dork. I'm serious. What would you do? Would you freak out?"

Dave thought about the guy in the drugstore, how he'd said _You just look, like, really happy,_ and he let himself speak from that feeling. He looked at Puck, watching him, straightened his back, smiled as calmly as he could, and said, "How about, 'Yeah, me and Puck… we're together. He's my… boyfriend.'"

Puck's eyebrows went halfway up his forehead. "Dude," he said.

Dave shrugged. "I mean, if you were."

"I –" Puck looked torn. "God, Dave. I just – I mean, I want to, but I don't know if I can –"

"Hey, it's okay," he said, incredibly, holding on to that calm feeling. He moved to the bed next to Puck, took Puck's hand, and placed it on his chest. "I know you're… taken. I thought, though, that song… maybe tonight, you can? Just for tonight."

Puck's eyes closed, his lashes impossibly long on his tanned cheeks. "Dangerous," he whispered.

"Why?" Dave touched Puck's chest, felt his heart beating too fast.

"Because I don't always get what I want." He let out a bitter chuckle. "That's just the way things are."

"Well, tonight, you can have anything you want." Dave smiled at Puck's speculative expression.

"Ice cream?" Puck suggested, and Dave laughed.

"If that's what you want."

"No," Puck said quietly, his eyes burning into Dave's. "I mean, maybe later. But now, I want you… to take off all your clothes… and put your fucking cock inside me."

Dave forgot how to breathe for a second, but he got into motion, stripping off his shirt and starting work on his zipper. "That, I'm pretty sure I can do," he breathed.

They both had condoms and lube, which Puck found ridiculously funny, and he was still laughing by the time they'd rid themselves of shirts and shorts. It wasn't the first time they'd been naked together, but this broad horizontal surface was new, and Dave found himself feeling hesitant about who should be where.

"Lie down on your back?" he suggested, and Puck did, posing for him with his arms behind his head. Dave had to pause for a moment to stare in frank admiration. "God damn."

"What?" Puck said innocently, but Dave didn't buy it for a second. He loved Puck's confidence. He _loved_ how he wanted to perform for Dave, to sing for him, to show off his fucking amazing body.

"I just love you," Dave found himself saying.

"Shit," Puck said, catching his breath and blinking rapidly. "There go those ninja feelings again."

"Yeah," Dave nodded. "I know. One minute, they're pretending to be a bush, and all of a sudden, _wham._ You're fucked."

"I'm fucked," Puck echoed, looking up at him, and reached for his neck, pulling Dave down on top of him.

Dave had a moment of wild anxiety, because yeah, Puck was strong, and muscular, and could give him a run for his money in some sports, but Dave was pretty sure he outweighed Puck by, like, _a lot._ "I'm going to squash you," Dave protested.

Puck laughed. "Dude. Lauren's a lot fucking bigger than _you,_ and she doesn't squash me. I mean, only in good ways. Come here. No, really, get the fuck _down _here."

He settled Dave along his body, their legs and hips and chests lining up, and Dave hesitated for another tense moment on his elbows before letting Puck take all his weight, _all _of it, and he was pretty sure he hadn't done that with anybody since he was about six years old. He wound his arms around Puck and gave a tentative squeeze. The noise Puck made was gratifying and mortifying at the same time.

"You okay?" he asked anxiously.

"Fuck, _yeah,"_ Puck groaned. He sounded like he was getting the best backrub of his life, or soaking in a hot tub, or eating a slice of fantastic chocolate cake. "Holy shit, man, I'm _never_ letting you go."

Words caught in Dave's throat that he wasn't ready to say, but eventually he recovered enough to suggest, "I think we need some lube before we go any further, and for that I really need my hands."

"Fine, ruin my fantasy," Puck sighed, but he sat up, propping himself on his arms. He didn't look squashed, Dave was relieved to see, particularly not _some_ parts of him. Dave reached out a finger and touched Puck's erect cock with one finger, grinning as it jumped a little at his touch. Puck shifted his legs and made room for Dave, and Dave knelt down in the space between them, feeling overwhelmed by the sight and smell and feel of Puck all around him.

"You're so fucking gorgeous, man," he breathed. "God. Talk about fantasies. I've been dreaming about you for, like, years."

"Yeah?" Puck sounded positively delighted by this idea. "Awesome." He uncapped the bottle of lube and handed it to Dave. "Do – you want me to show you what to do?"

"I think I know," Dave said, "but if it feels wrong, or if you have, uh, suggestions, I can take direction."

"Cool," said Puck, settling back on the pillows again, watching Dave with an expression of anticipation, trust and – Dave gulped – love.

"Wow," Dave whispered.

"What?"

Dave wasn't sure how to convey what he saw, but he tried, "You – really do love me."

"Uh, _yeah,"_ Puck said emphatically. "Do I have to sing you _another_ fucking song?"

Dave laughed, and took advantage of the lessening of tension to spread some lube on one finger, and touched it to the skin below Puck's tight balls. "When did you know?"

"Like, when did I start feeling this way?" Puck asked, and Dave nodded. Puck let out a sigh, and Dave felt him relax, opening up for his finger. It was indescribably erotic, and Dave felt himself get immediately hard. "Uh… God… oh, I know; you were in the pool. I said something that made you embarrassed and you ducked under the water and came up, and _god_, you looked so fucking _hot_ with your hair slicked back – I wanted you right then." He pressed into Dave's finger, and his breath hitched as it slid in halfway. "_Yeah,"_ he groaned.

"Man, that was fifteen days ago," Dave said, feeling awed. "You – we barely knew each other then."

"Dude, we barely know each other _now," _ Puck pointed out. "I don't think love works that way. You either are or you aren't." He gave another twitch of his hips. "More."

"More – fingers?" Dave said, startled, and Puck nodded, closing his eyes. "Doesn't that hurt?" he wanted to know.

"_No,_" Puck growled. "Come _on._ Give it to me."

Dave, especially some parts of Dave, were _definitely_ on board with the idea of _giving it_ to Puck, but he made himself go slow, because… dude. "I'm… not sure if I'm gonna fit inside here," Dave said dubiously, sliding another finger in.

"Yeah, that's it…" Puck arched his back, leaning hard into Dave's penetrating digits, and it was such an awesome picture, Dave considered grabbing his own cock and finishing himself off right then. There was no way he was going to last long at this rate, not with all this incredible visual and aural and olfactory stimulation. Puck was a veritable feast for his senses, and he was feeling entirely too blissed out on him.

"Don't worry," Puck added, sounding a little breathy (Dave added that to the hot-things-about-Puck list: Puck's voice when he was being fucked by Dave's fingers). "You're not _that_ big."

"Hey," Dave protested mildly, because he thought he _was_ actually kind of on the big side, and even if Puck _had_ seen others to compare it to, he didn't think it was exactly polite for him to say so. But then he saw Puck's gaze come down and fix on the very object of their conversation, and he didn't think he could say anything more. Puck looked _hungry _again.

"That's enough fingers," he said, his voice quick and intense. "You. I want _this._" Puck reached down and took hold of Dave's cock and pulled – gently – toward him, and Dave slipped his fingers out of Puck's ass – and Dave couldn't help pondering_ how did they stay so clean, anyway, when – _well, never mind. There were more important things to consider.

Dave ripped open a condom and rolled it down to the base of his cock. Puck watched him avidly, and added impatiently, "More lube." Dave obliged, spreading some on the head, then took a deep breath and knelt down between Puck's legs.

"Come on, come on," Puck chanted, thrusting his hips forward. "You're driving me fucking crazy here."

Dave, bemused by Puck's insistence, wondered what would happen if he just sat there. He positioned himself exactly, cock to ass… and waited. He tried not to smile.

Puck felt his touch there, and glared down at him in exasperation. "God, Dave, just _fuck_ me already," he barked, and Dave gave an involuntary laugh.

"Well, okay," he said, "but if it's really that good, you're really going to have to let me go next." And he nudged forward, slowly, carefully, stretching Puck's opening – and true to form, Puck just _went for it,_ grinding back on Dave's cock, taking it all in one thrust. They both cried out at the intensity of the sensation, and Dave felt the grip and squeeze of Puck's body around him like a hand of fire.

"_Yeah," _Puck exhaled, as Dave thrust forward, first tentatively, then a little harder. He spread his legs wider to give him more room to move, and Dave thanked the entire Holy Trinity for Puck's flexible limbs, because the adjustment let him sink deeper still, eliciting another gasp from Puck. "That's what I wanted, _just_ like that…"

Dave had a moment of embarrassed self-consciousness as he felt the skin and fat of his belly pressing into Puck's lean, trim thighs. The contrast between them alone would normally be enough to drive him into running and hiding in shame, but something about the way Puck was watching him, the delicious way he was running his hands over Dave's arms and chest and grabbing him around the middle, the absolute desire and appreciation and _gimme gimme gimme_ on his face, made him feel like it might be… okay. That _he_ might be okay. Maybe even more than okay. It touched something deep inside him, something lost and hurt that needed healing.

"You feel fucking incredible," Puck said, his eyes wide, pupils huge, swimming in their collective pool of lust. Dave could only nod and grit his teeth and try to keep his focus.

Puck clearly had a goal in mind, because he was doing practically all the moving, thrusting into his own fist, squirming his hips up higher onto Dave's cock, each time the expression on his face getting a little closer to bliss. "That's it… _ohfuck, ohfuck,_ Dave, that's _it…"_

"God – " And then Dave was suddenly panicking, for once not because of what they were doing, but because _shit,_ he was _there,_ it was going to be _over,_ and Dave was not typically a hair-triggered guy, but _oh my god_ did this feel amazing. "Puck –"

"Say it," Puck urged, his voice sounding desperate. "Come on, baby, _say it."_

Dave had no idea what he meant for a wild moment, but then he knew, and he took a shuddering breath, gathered Puck into his arms and gave him what he was asking for. "Noah – Noah," he said, over and over, and each repetition was like the words _thank you _and _I love you_ and _I need this_ all tied into one package.

Inside the cradle of his words, Dave felt Puck give a final thrust and gasp, _"Oh –"_ and Dave could feel from the inside, from the _inside_ how strong his orgasm was. The power of each clenching wave blew the top off Dave's own climax, and he came inside Puck with a groan, clutching his hips with both hands.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Dave panted, wiping the sweat from his face. He leaned over Puck, supporting himself on all fours, because _sweaty fat guy_ and _romantic afterglow_ didn't really go together in his mind, but Puck just clutched him around his middle and pulled him down on top of him, making Dave say _oof. _And feeling Puck underneath him, even sweaty and sticky as he was, was absolutely, positively the best feeling _ever._

"Sorry," said Puck, and Dave twisted his head back to stare at him. "For the 'baby,'" Puck said, grimacing. "I don't know where the fuck_ that_ came from."

"Oh," Dave said, and shrugged. He'd kind of liked it, but he didn't want to make Puck feel uncomfortable. And speaking of uncomfortable - he put a hand down to catch the condom before it slipped off entirely and spilled all over the guest room bed. "Are you okay?" he said, gazing down at Puck, who was lying boneless, eyes closed.

"Never better," Puck said, in such an odd tone of voice that Dave looked at him more closely. Puck's eyes opened, and they met Dave's. He could read there Puck's own version of _thank you_ and _I love you_ and even _I need this._ It made him quake inside.

"Never. Better," Puck repeated distinctly, and Dave _got it._ He felt the glow starting in his gut and consume the rest of him, piece by piece, ending with the smile on his face.

_We did it,_ Dave thought as he rolled off to lie by Puck's side, dazed and more satisfied than he'd ever been in his life. _Not just awesome. All Puck's awesomes aside -_ that_ was the best. _And he guessed it was only going to get better from here.

"Round one," said Puck, in blissful anticipation, and Dave groaned.

"Later," he said. "First – ice cream."

* * *

><p>Song credit: "This Night" by Billy Joel, copyright 1983.<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

It turned out that ice cream wasn't too far away, because Dave had a thing for a particular kind of low-fat gelato that had gone on sale this week. He'd bought four different flavors, and he was proud that his self-control had led him to only sample each flavor so far. They got all four tubs out of the freezer, and two spoons, and sat naked at the dinner table grinning at each other like idiots.

Dave was having a hard time knowing what to say when his brain kept coming up with things like: _Dude, __you __just __lost __half __your __guy-virginity, __and __it __was __the __best __thing __ever._ And: _How __many __more __times __is __Puck __going __to __let __you __do __that __tonight? __How __about __total __this __summer? __Is __there __a __record __for __most __sex __had __in __one __summer?_ And even: _If __other __guys __knew __how __awesome __this __was, __would __they __all __be __gay, __too?_

"You doing all right?" he finally said, with a vague gesture toward Puck's nether regions. "I didn't, like, hurt you."

Puck snorted. "I'm not a delicate fucking flower, Dave. I think I can handle a little ass play." He didn't seem to be in any discomfort, at least; he was sitting normally, digging his spoon in the tub of chocolate hazelnut with ease.

"Well, that's good," Dave replied lamely.

"This is the best fucking flavor I've ever had," Puck said, with his mouth full of gelato. "It doesn't taste anything like mint chocolate chip ice cream."

Dave spun the carton around to look at the label, and took a spoonful for himself. "It's got, like, real mint leaves in it," he pointed out. "You like leaf-flavored gelato."

"Fuck you," Puck said, affectionately, and Dave was suddenly beset by images of what they were probably going to do next. It was like Puck could read them in his mind, because his eyes went from friendly to predatory in three seconds.

"Uh," Dave said, setting down his spoon. "Are you still hungry?"

"Not for ice cream," Puck said.

They fumbled the lids back on and dumped them back into the freezer. Dave watched Puck move around the kitchen, putting the spoons in the sink, his unconscious grace, and he was suddenly embarrassed to be naked around Puck again. But Puck stopped him in the middle of the linoleum floor and looked him up and down with an approving leer.

"You don't have to, you know," Puck said, sliding his hands around Dave's waist and gripping his ass in both palms.

"Don't have to – you mean -?" Dave honestly didn't realize what he was talking about for a minute, until it occurred to him that, unless Puck had read his mind earlier, he probably had no _idea_ how much he wanted it. So he just settled on saying, with as much fervor as he could muster, "No, man, I _really _want to. Really."

Puck grinned. "_I_ think it's pretty fucking mind-blowing, but, I guess it's not everybody's favorite thing."

Dave felt his face heating up, and he chased the images of Puck on top of him back into hiding. "I've been thinking about it for… well. A while."

"Yeah?" Puck said, interested. "Like, when did you know you wanted that? With guys?"

Now Dave was hyper-aware of Puck's hands on his ass, and tried not to be self-conscious about the size of it, or exactly where his fingers were stroking. He closed his eyes against Puck's curiosity, but that just let him indulge the images of Puck doing things in more detail. "Pretty much my whole life," he admitted. "I didn't really remember _not_ wanting it. I just… didn't tell anybody."

"I can't imagine wanting something and not doing something about it," Puck said. His hands were definitely doing… something… to Dave now. "When I want something, I just go for it, mostly."

Dave was almost afraid to ask, but he ventured, "So when did _you_ first start doing stuff with guys?"

"Heh." Puck's smirk was a little sheepish. "Fourth grade, Andy Shapiro, after Hebrew school. It was just touching, no mouths or fucking or anything."

"Andy _Shapiro?__"_ Dave pictured the tall, studious boy doing _anything_ with Puck, and couldn't really wrap his brain around it.

"Yeah, but I don't think he likes guys; it was just convenient, you know? Playing."

"Convenient," Dave agreed, and let his own hands graze Puck's ass. Puck's hand meandered around to Dave's hip, fingers splayed on his skin. Dave caught his breath as Puck gripped his cock, stroking it leisurely. "Like this is," he added.

"It was," Puck said. "Convenient." He watched Dave's face contort and grimace with desire as he jacked him slowly. Then he paused, bringing his hand to his mouth, licking his palm. It made Dave's eyes bug out, watching his tongue come out, leaving a wet swath of skin – and then return to Dave's cock, slick now. Dave groaned, long and low. "But it's not anymore."

"What?" Dave wasn't sure he got it. "It's not… convenient?" Puck shook his head, and Dave blinked nervously. "What is it, then?"

"Well…" Puck glanced at the floor, then back to Dave, face sober. "Important, I guess. Real." He hesitated before adding, "Necessary."

"Yeah," Dave said. The feelings he was having were a little too raw for standing up in the kitchen, so he suggested, "I think a bed would be _convenient_ for this next part, though."

"Good plan." Puck gave Dave a little push to the foot of the stairs, then proceeded to chase him upstairs to the guest room.

"I gotta wonder if Mrs. Lapeer has any idea what's going on in her house while they're on vacation?" Dave said.

"Maybe. She knows you're here, after all." Puck was smiling as they moved from the landing into the front room, and Dave was driven by the irresistible force of Puck before him – then _on __top_ of him, pressing him down onto the bed.

Dave was digging what Puck was doing, yeah, he _was,_ but he couldn't help asking, "What do you mean by _that?__"_

"I mean, you're like the hottest guy in school," Puck said. "Of course you're going to be doing something in your bed."

He used the pressure of his tongue against Dave's throat, wreaking havoc with his voice, so the next words came out rather higher than Dave had intended. "I think you've been smoking something, man."

Puck stopped what he was doing and knelt back to look Dave in the face. "What?" Dave said.

"I'm just… fucking pissed at Kurt," he said. "For telling you you were anything less than totally hot. God, Dave, _look_ at you."

"I'd rather not," he said.

"That's just what I'm talking about. You're fucking _gorgeous.__"_

Dave could scarcely bear to hear the words, and he screwed up his face, shaking his head in resistance. "Please – don't, Puck."

"What, I can't tell the guy I'm about to fuck how awesome he is? Screw that, Dave. You're going to have to deal with it." Puck's breathing was coming faster, and judging by the erection wedged against Dave's side, it was only partly from anger.

"I'm just not used to hearing it," Dave said. He watched Puck's own face twist in bitter frustration. "Sorry."

"It's not _your_ fault, man. But – I think you'd better get used to it. I'm going to be saying it a lot." Puck stood up, alongside the bed, and tugged on Dave's hand. "And you'd better turn over."

"Turn over?" Dave echoed, then realized what Puck meant, and he felt the flush run from his head to his cock in about two seconds.

"Yeah," Puck said, helping Dave onto his hands and knees. "First time's hard enough. This position's a little easier to handle. I don't want it to hurt any more than you want it to."

"Sounds fine to me," Dave said, his voice rough, because seriously, the image of Puck behind him was right in line with his age-old fantasies, and he wasn't going to stand in the way of fulfilling one of those. The bed was just the right height, he noted, and before he knew it, Puck was slipping a lube-slick finger into his ass and probing deep. "Fuck," he swore.

"Better to get this part over with," Puck said sympathetically. He added more lube to the crook of a second finger and slid it in, making Dave writhe. He wondered if it would be bad form to grab his own cock, but Puck seemed to know what to do, reaching around to grip Dave briefly in one hand before he expertly tore open a condom with his teeth and slid it on.

"I'm going to take advantage of you facing the other way to tell you all the fucking embarrassing stuff," Puck said, and then he was pushing against Dave with the head of his cock. "And you should bear down, like you're taking a shit."

"Oh," Dave groaned, at the pressure, and the burning stretch, and the… the fucking _reality_ of what was happening: Puck's cock in his ass. "God… okay, yes, okay_.__"_

"So I think I'm really in love with you, Dave," Puck said, the words coming out quickly, while at the same time he was moving interminably slowly, sliding in deeper a little at a time. "I'm freaking out about what Lauren's going to say about that, but I'm going to call her tonight and tell her. I want her to know how I feel about you, and what I want. But I guess I should ask you if you were serious about what you said. You know, about the boyfriend thing."

"Uh," Dave said, his mind reeling. "You – you want that?"

"Yeah," Puck said, almost greedily. He was buried in Dave now, and Dave could feel his balls brushing the skin around his ass, and it was the most unbelievable sensation, nothing like what he'd expected, and Puck was asking to be his fucking _boyfriend._

"Puck," he said, and let out a strangled gasp as Puck's hand came around to wrap around his heavy, weeping cock.

"Call me Noah," Puck urged, almost begging, and Dave felt his heart swell and overflow. He couldn't take it, it was too much – filled with Puck's cock and feeling that kind of emotion at the same time, it was more than he could handle.

"Noah," he shuddered. And then Dave's world expanded, and he was chanting his name, _Noah, __Noah,_ as his cock stroked into him, each thrust another revelation, the sweetest reminder of who he was, and what he could be.

"God, baby, I love you so much," Puck hissed, and Dave came, moaning, in long, thick spurts onto the bed. He felt Puck's hips slam into his once, twice more, and heard him saying his own name in return, _Dave_, before calling out in release_. _It was the most amazing sound. Dave knew, even if they never did this again – he hoped fervently that wasn't the case – that he would never forget that sound.

* * *

><p>Dave had never been much of a post-sex cuddler, but he discovered that a post-sex shower was right up his alley, especially <em>this<em> kind of sex, which was a lot messier than he had anticipated. Not that he was complaining. Especially not when the shower involved Puck and soap and stroking and surprisingly sudden orgasms against the tile.

"Jesus," Dave said, rinsing off following their last panting efforts. "You've completely eliminated my refractory period."

"Didn't I say I was in favor of _more?__"_ Puck turned off the hot water and stepped out of the shower, dripping on the tile. Dave admired his complete lack of shame.

"I just wonder how many I can have in one night, without falling over twitching." He reached up on the shelf next to the shower, he took down a clean towel and wrapped it around his waist. He saw Puck's sincere attraction to him, but that didn't mean he suddenly felt good about how he looked. _It __just __means __Puck __is __fucking __bugnuts._

Puck was pondering this question. "I think my record is eight in one twenty-four hour period," he decided, "but I had serious chafing, and I'm pretty sure I passed out at least once." He admired himself in the mirror, turning to flex his triceps. "And that was with a girl," he added. "But you – you don't like girls?"

"I guess girls are pretty and all," Dave said, shrugging. He used a second towel to dry himself; Puck seemed happy to drip-dry, which was just fine by Dave. "They just don't… _do_ much for me."

"Man, I love girls," Puck grinned. "I'm hot for them – but they're so much _work._ Getting Mercedes to go out with me was a fucking picnic compared to wooing Lauren, and neither one was willing to do shit with me anyway."

Dave felt a chill, and he didn't think it was the water drying on his skin. "You like being with guys because they're easier? Less discriminating sexually?"

"Guys are usually pretty willing to mess around. But they have their own hang-ups. And some guys are all about the fucking drama. Like, I'd never do stuff with Kurt, even if he is kind of hot, in an Adam Lambert kind of way – I can already tell he'd be a project and a half. Way too moody."

Dave felt the echo of all the guys and girls that Puck had ever slept with. It was not insignificant, and it made him uneasy.

"I'm kind of an asshole," he ventured glumly.

Puck tugged Dave's towel off his waist and gave him a hug. "Don't start fishing for compliments," he suggested. "You won't get me to stop. And you're not an asshole. Are you gonna be my boyfriend, or what?"

"I – yeah," Dave said. He turned to close the shower door to hide his grin. "That sounds good."

"All right," Puck said quietly, pleased, and swung him back around again to kiss him. "So, can I stay over?"

Dave wondered if Puck could feel his heart pounding, or the endless litany in his head: _Boyfriend. __I __have __a __boyfriend? __This __fucking __sexy __guy __is __my__… _ "I was thinking that'd be cool," he managed.

"I'm not making breakfast or anything," Puck warned. "I can pretty much guarantee I'll burn whatever you make me cook."

"I can make Pop-Tarts?" Dave offered, and Puck laughed. "Actually, I can't stay for breakfast. I have a standing date with an older guy every morning." He smirked. "My dad."

Puck hummed a challenge, tapping Dave on the chest like he was picking a fight, but he was grinning. "Heh. I was all set to kick your ass at the end of that sentence. Cause this boyfriend business - I'm not fucking around. I'm all yours, man. Are you ready for that?"

"Well, I don't know if I'm ready to walk down the street holding hands," Dave admitted, "but… if you're asking if I'm planning to do stuff with anybody else, the answer is no." _Not __that __I __was __doing __stuff __with __anybody __before._

"I'm willing to live with that," Puck said.

Even after that third round in the shower, there was an undercurrent of tension between them as they moved around the house and jockeyed for position at the sink in the bathroom, getting ready for bed. It made Dave wonder what might happen as the summer wore on toward fall. _What__'__s __it __going __to __be __like __with __other __people? __Are __we __totally __obvious, __or __what? __Are __we __going __to __tell __anybody? __Fuck, __what __about __school?_

It was all on Dave's mind, a tumbling array of images and questions, but, for once, none of them were making a dent in his good mood. He felt incredibly… _happy,_ he realized. And climbing into bed, with Puck next to him, felt like the most natural thing in the world. He had no idea how, if he'd gone so many years sleeping by himself, being under the covers next to the warm, hairy body of this guy could feel so goddamn normal.

Under the safety of darkness, as they lay companionably side by side, Dave's right leg pressed against Puck's left, Dave felt brave enough to say, "This is good, man."

"Yeah," Puck agreed quietly. Dave felt Puck shift next to him, and his arm slid over Dave's to clasp his hand. It was way more intimate than Dave had expected from Puck, but then he thought about Puck's words to him, and what they'd just done, and decided _intimate_ was exactly how he was feeling.

"I was thinking," Puck said, and hesitated.

"What?"

"I wanted to tell Finn about you," he said.

Dave's eyes opened in the dark. "Oh."

"He's pretty good at keeping a secret. But he's also dating Rachel, and she's, uh, _not. _So there's kind of a good chance that it might not be a secret for long." Dave felt Puck's fingers, intertwined with his, and gave them an experimental squeeze. Puck squeezed back. "So what do you think?"

Dave imagined starting his senior year of high school with a boyfriend. It was fucking beyond his comprehension. But then – he imagined starting his senior year of high school _without_ his boyfriend, and his answer was clear. "I think you should tell him, and if anything happens, we'll deal with it."

"Yeah?" His answer was hushed, even awed. "You sure?"

"No," Dave sighed. "I'll probably freak out eight ways tomorrow. But this is way too fucking good not to tell _somebody_ about."

"Yeah," said Puck. He felt a kiss against his back. Dave was nearly asleep when Puck's question floated over to him: "Who are _you_ going to tell?"

"Tomorrow," he said drowsily.

* * *

><p>Dave woke in the middle of the night to insistent hands pressing into his thighs. Puck was straddling him, covers pushed back, probing with moist fingers, and Dave made a groan before he could form words as he climbed out of sleep.<p>

"Is this okay?" Puck said, low and intense. _Needy._

"Yeah," Dave said thickly, opening his legs to let Puck in closer.

Puck had been right; the position was not as easy; he felt pressure inside in new places as Puck slid inside him, and not all of them were pleasant. But that all changed as Puck reached down with his lube-slick hand and stripped Dave's cock, giving him just the right kind of friction in just the exact amount to keep Dave from coming.

"Fuck me," he demanded, willing to say it in the dark, and to let Puck do it to him. Puck. more than willing, lifted one of Dave's legs up, getting in deeper, getting the perfect angle, and Dave felt – something – and cried out.

"There it is," Puck said, breathing hard, and Puck did it again, thrust in just that way, and Dave felt it again, and again, and – he was coming, right away, all over his stomach. It was almost too intense, but Puck wasn't letting up. The intellectual Dave was able to think _prostate __massage,_ but the Dave who'd already had four orgasms in the last several hours was only able to grip Puck's hips and hold on while Puck rode him to climax.

"Jesus," he said, as Puck collapsed forward on top of him, seeking his mouth in a sloppy, intense kiss.

Puck slid out and disposed of the condom in some creative way before pulling the covers up over a shivering Dave. "Too much?"

"I don't know," he said, honestly. "But don't stop, okay?"

"It's not in my vocabulary," Puck said, his voice gravely and unsteady after coming, and Dave laughed sleepily as they tumbled back into unconsciousness.


	6. Chapter 6

Dave was generally an early riser, waking naturally without an alarm clock before school. But being fucked into oblivion clearly had had a soporific effect on him, because he found himself digging back into the warmth of the covers and batting at the person trying to wake him up with an irritated hand. "Bit longer," he mumbled.

"You said you'd make me Pop-Tarts," he heard, in a far deeper voice than his father could command. This drew him further out of sleep, and he opened a squinting eye into the morning sun.

Warm hazel eyes regarded him from the pillow next to Dave, along with an expectant smirk. Before the events of the night before flooded back into his consciousness, he thought briefly, _Is this some kind of prank?_ Because he was pretty sure being naked with Puck in a bed with flowered sheets was a recipe for something cruel and unusual.

It really was like a _flood,_ the memories of what they had done, all of it, and Dave felt like he'd been knocked over and was being pulled down by the undertow. He was glad he was already lying down. Letting his head fall back, he stared up at the ceiling for a moment, then peeked back at Puck again. Still naked. Still smiling.

"Good morning?" he tried.

"Hey," Puck said, and Dave caught his breath at the tone in his voice. Gentle, tender_._ Puck leaned over and his lips found Dave's cheek. Into his ear, he heard him murmur, "You sore?"

"Uh," Dave said, shifting his hips experimentally, and found that he was – but that other things were pressing against him, next to him in the bed, hot, hard things, and that was more distracting than the ache inside. "A little."

"Well, that decides that," Puck said, throwing a leg over Dave and straddling him. Dave had a moment of uncertainty as Puck reached for the lube.

"Hey, man, I'm not sure I can –" But he couldn't finish what he was about to say, whatever it was, because Puck was propping up his leg and working ungentle fingers into _his own ass,_ right in front of him, and suddenly Dave was completely, entirely, unequivocally hard.

"I'm not even sure which one I like best anymore," Puck said, like a talk about the weather. _Yes, I think it might rain today, and I'm about half and half when it comes to being fucked by you versus fucking you, Dave._ He watched Dave's face with satisfaction and amusement, as he ripped the wrapper with his teeth and rolled the condom onto him. "I _am_ the sex shark," he added. "Hope you're ready for this."

"Uh – oh, Jesus," Dave exclaimed, somewhat incredulous, as Puck squatted over Dave's cock and did what Puck did every time, which was _go for it. _As soon as Puck's body was in motion, Dave's responded, and they both moaned in decadent pleasure as their thrusts coincided.

"Yeah," Puck went on, a little more ragged this time. "I think this is better. Holy fuck, Dave. You've turned me into a bottom."

"S-sorry?" he offered, gripping Puck's forearms with his hands to give him some support. Puck was clearly a lot more flexible than he was; Dave was pretty sure his knees couldn't do _that,_ and watched in increasing appreciation as Puck writhed and twisted on him. "Easy, there – don't hurt yourself, man."

"I'm a _little_ more used to this than you," Puck said dismissively, then grinned down at Dave, eyes glittering. His skin was the perfect shade of golden-tan against the pale colors of the Lapeer's guest room, and Dave got stuck in the aesthetics of that for way longer than he'd thought possible. _Fuck, _he thought with dismay. _I'm so fucking gay._

"Perfect," he head himself saying, and Puck cocked his head.

"I'm not usually much for morning sex," Puck said, smiling, "but yeah, it is." And that expression was back, that gentle-tender thing, that he wasn't _at all_ sure he deserved, but that made him feel… he felt…

"You okay?" Puck said, the expression dropping to make way for concern. "You look a little weird."

_Am I?_ he wondered, self-recrimination and guilt warring with the incredible happiness he still felt from last night. "I'm a little freaked out," he admitted, "but it's okay. This is good. I love it. Love you." _Why did he say _that?

But Puck seemed to appreciate it, because the gentle-tender look returned, and he smiled down at Dave. "I want this to be good for you," he said, drawing one of Dave's hands up to curl around his cock.

"It really is," Dave insisted. "God." Now his attention was on Puck's cock in his hand, the way Puck was arching up and coming down on Dave's body, taking charge of getting himself off, and Dave suddenly thought, _Why the fuck am I letting him do that?_ He reached for Puck, pulling him down into his chest, saying, "C'mere."

"What – _Dave,_ holy shit, what -?" Puck let out a startled exclamation as Dave's muscles tensed, and it wasn't so hard after all to lift a hundred and fifty, hundred and sixty pounds, at most, and he was pleased to see he could manage to keep their bodies connected at the root as he flipped Puck over onto his back with a breathy grunt.

"If this is really what you want," he said, staring into Puck's wide, surprised eyes, putting some of his weight on Puck's shoulders, holding him down, "go ahead and tell me. You don't have to be in charge. I'm glad to fuck you any time you want me."

Puck's mouth fell open and he tried to make some noises like words, but they were small and meaningless and eclipsed by the groan that came next, as Dave drove himself into Puck's welcoming body. Dave tried to remember exactly what Puck had done the night before – coming up onto his knee _here,_ angling his hips _there. _He thought he'd gotten it just about right when Puck's cry preceded his sudden and messy orgasm by just seconds. Puck didn't show any sign of asking Dave to stop, though, and thank God for that, because it was not, not, _not _happening.

"Yeah," he said, watching the blissed-out grimace on Puck's face with a delicious thrill. "You are gonna get this _whenever_ you want it. Every… fucking… _day_. You'd better get used to it, because now it's inevitable."

"Promise?" Puck said, eyes still closed, shuddering. Dave glanced down to see him twitching.

"Dude, are you getting hard _again?_" He shook his head, amazed. "Fucking insatiable."

"Yeah, what can I say; big words turn me on as much as big guys do." Puck grinned, laughing at Dave's eye-roll. "Come on, baby, give it to me."

Dave found himself laughing, a real laugh, something he'd never before done in the middle of sex – _girls would have been offended,_ he thought – but he was just so damn _happy,_ he couldn't help it. "Okay," he said. "I'm bewildered and overwhelmed by your incomparable pulchritude."

Puck's expression just made him laugh harder. "That doesn't sound very good," Puck said, wrinkling his forehead.

"It just means you're fucking beautiful, and it blows me away," Dave replied, pleased to see his confusion melt into gratitude. He could feel himself tensing, getting closer to the end - but instead of speeding up, he found himself slowing down, wanting it to last, loving this easy moment with Puck.

When it did happen, as he supposed it had to – and he wondered what that would be like, making love all morning, all day, _without_ coming, and it was just way more appealing than he ever thought that idea would be – he curled himself around Puck's body again, not lifting him anywhere, but holding him tight. He listened to Puck's unsteady breathing, felt Puck's fingers on his neck, and let himself love him, coming almost silently into the heat and tightness of his body.

It was a long moment before he could look at Puck after that, the profundity of his emotions beyond explanation, but judging by the expression on Puck's face, he thought maybe he got it, after all. Dave felt Puck's breath on his mouth, hovering close to him, watching for any sign of disgust, any rejection, but saw only wonder, and the kind of vulnerability he'd never expected to see from _any_ guy, much less this one.

"Noah," he said, softly.

"Dave," Puck replied, in the same tone.

That was all they could say, and even after Dave pulled out of Puck and ditched the condom in the trash can, they were silent for a long moment, neither one wanting to ruin the perfection of it.

"I'm gonna be late for breakfast with my dad," Dave said at last. "I'll be back later. You - ?"

"I'm heading over to the Underwood's to clean their pool," Puck said. "But I'll be back for lunch."

"Sounds good." He watched Puck pull on his shorts, moving a little stiffly, and knew he himself wasn't walking entirely normally. It made him grin, and wondered if his dad would notice – not that he'd know _why_. He'd gotten almost entirely dressed before he realized he hadn't felt self-conscious in front of Puck at all.

"I thought… I'm going to call Finn," Puck said. "Maybe get together for pizza at my house tonight. He – well, if he doesn't want to kick my ass, he might want to talk to you."

Dave stuffed the panic down with years of long practice, willing himself not to get combative. He just nodded as he tied his shoes. "I can do that," he said, trying to sound confident.

"You're sure?" Puck's normally smiling face was sober, and he put a hand on Dave's arm. Dave touched his hand and nodded.

"I think if we're going to do this, there's no way I'm going to be able to keep it undercover," he said. "Hell – the sound guy at your open mic could tell I was hot for you after about five seconds."

Puck laughed in surprise. "You came out to _Mark?"_

"I didn't have to," Dave replied, grinning. "He came out to me, and then he asked if I was your boyfriend."

"Wait – Mark's _gay?"_ Puck took a step back and scratched his neck. "No way; he's married. What did he tell you?"

"Uh… nothing, I guess. I just assumed from…" He shrugged. "He just seemed… accepting."

Puck snickered. "Yeah, they have a word for those people. Not gay."

"That's two words, dumbass," Dave said, and Puck grabbed him and kissed him and there weren't any words for a little while.

The strange, perfect intimacy was back when they pulled away, and Puck stayed close to Dave's face, hovering, hands and lips grazing his skin. "I'm having a fucking hard time saying goodbye," he whispered. "Kind of stupid."

"No," Dave said. "Not… not stupid." He kissed him once more, then gave him a firm push. "My dad gets annoyed if I'm late, though."

"Maybe you can introduce me some time," Puck said, his smirk colored by that gentle-tender thing. Dave turned away, feeling his face heat up, not knowing what to say. He fumbled in his drawer for a handkerchief, and when he turned around again, Puck had gone.

Then he heard, drifting up the stairs, just before the front door slammed:

"My boyfriend owes me a Pop-Tart."

* * *

><p>The screen door to Dave's house had always made a terrible noise, ever since he could remember, but Dave's dad had never wanted to fix it. He said it was his way to keep track of whether Dave was playing out in the woods. The time to himself was something Dave didn't want to share with anyone, not even to say he was going out. He'd just head out there, into the back yard littered with pine needles, under cover of the dozens of old evergreens. Dave's dad said it'd once been a Christmas tree farm, and had been left to grow wild one year instead of harvested; now the trees were over 40 feet tall, but they were still slim, providing cover high above with only spindly, spare branches beneath. Dave would find a place to sit under the pines and read, until it got too dark to see, or until the mosquitoes got too bad, and the screen door would herald his return into the house.<p>

He approached the door today, hesitating. It was the first time in Dave's memory that he'd come to his father with the intention of lying to him. He didn't like the way it felt, even just _thinking_ about doing it. The alternative wasn't much better, though, and eventually he had to steel himself and just go the fuck into his house.

His dad looked up from his morning newspaper and egg sandwich. "You're late," he said. "Everything okay?"

"Sorry," Dave offered gruffly. "Late night. I slept in later than I thought I would." He set his bag down on the chair next to his dad and slid into the chair across from him.

"The sprinkler guys are coming tomorrow," his dad said, taking a bite. "Don't forget you said you could be here to meet them. They could be here any time between nine and noon, so be around, okay?"

"Sure, Dad," he said, nodding. He shifted in his chair, managing to avoid wincing, and then had to carefully school his face against the shit-eating grin that kept threatening to emerge onto his face. _I might as well burst into fucking song,_ he thought, and the amusing image made him grin anyway.

"You look happy," his dad said, setting his sandwich down. Dave busied himself making toast, spreading a tiny amount of butter on the whole slice of bread, trying to get a little butter on each square inch. It was a reasonable challenge to distract his mind from the astute observation.

"I guess I'm having a pretty good summer," he said, and took a bite of buttered toast.

He passed Dave a cup of coffee without comment, already doctored with sugar and cream the way Dave liked it. Dave had drank coffee with his dad since he'd turned fourteen; he appreciated the way his dad trusted him with that decision. "What have you been up to these last couple weeks? I hardly see you at night anymore."

Dave shrugged. "I've been mostly eating alone and reading." _Except for last night. Last night I got my brains fucked out by the hottest guy I've ever laid eyes on. _ He added, "I like being on my own; it's fun."

His dad nodded, smiling slightly. "Well, I'm not ready to let you head off and be a college student, not quite yet. I'm glad this experience is giving you a taste for what it'll be on your own."

"Sure," he said, hoarsely.

He imagined himself saying, _I've met someone,_ and his dad responding. In Dave's mind, it went something like this:

_I've met someone. _

_It's a good thing it's summer, son. You'd never have time for dating otherwise._

_I'm really in love this time, Dad._

_Really? What's her name? Do I know her parents?_

_Maybe… _

_What's she planning to do after graduating? Any chance of you attending the same college? _

_I… doubt it. _

_Well, you know how I feel about senior year, Dave. You've got to focus on your studies until you're sure you're in where you want to go. This isn't the time to take your eye off the ball. _

Even Dave's wandering hypothetical mind couldn't make a pun about that. He sighed. It sounded identical to several conversations he'd had before. He had no doubt it would be bad if he added something like _It's a guy, Dad,_ but knew just as certainly that it would be equally bad if he fudged the pronoun and said _They've got a D average. _

Even if by some miracle his dad was this super-accepting Catholic type about the gay thing – and Dave thought maybe it was possible; not likely, but possible - there was no way he'd understand who Puck was underneath the grades. _He's a creative marketer, Dad, and he's an effing hard worker, and cares about his job, and he's got the biggest effing heart of anybody I know. Did I mention he's a brilliant guitarist and performer? And I'm totally, completely crazy about him. _ It wouldn't matter. All his dad would see was _Lima loser. _

Dave's dad cleared his throat, and Dave opened his eyes to see him watching him. He guessed his face had been fielding some strange expressions, because he said, "Maybe you can tell me more about what you've been up to tomorrow, okay, sport? I've got to get to the office." He pushed out his chair and efficiently cleared his dishes.

"Sure," he said. "See you then."

"Don't forget the sprinkler guys," his dad said again.

Dave rested his forehead on the table. "Yeah," he mumbled. "I won't forget."

* * *

><p>He was nearly through his third set of laps when the back gate rattled. Puck could move entirely too silently for his own good, so Dave guessed this was on purpose, to give him the heads up. <em>What a guy,<em> he thought, slicking the water from his face.

Dave was pretty sure he'd never seen Puck's little sister before, but he knew there was no chance he wouldn't have been able to tell who she was. Even if he'd met her in the middle of the grocery store or something: she had his exact hazel eyes, and his exact golden skin. He bet if Puck grew out his hair, he'd have her same black curls.

She came right up to the edge of the pool and stared at Dave silently. He stared back, and tried a friendly smile. He hoped it didn't make him look like he was constipated or something. "Hi there," he said. "You must be Sarah."

"I must be," she agreed. "You must be the guy who's fucking my brother."

"I – " He choked on his reply, sweeping frantic eyes to Puck, who was smirking and turning red. "I must be," he finally said. "But why don't you call me Dave. It's shorter."

Sarah smiled big and turned to Puck. "He's quick," she said. "I like him."

"Yeah," said Puck, looking somewhat smug. "Me, too."

"Noah told me I have to ask before I get in the pool because you might still be doing your laps." She came to the side of the pool and dipped a toe in the water, jumping back. "Brrr."

"Sorry, I've been keeping it kind of cool. I'm almost done." He watched her settle herself into a chaise lounge and pull out a set of earbuds, shrugging.

"No big. I can wait." She leaned back and closed her eyes, the picture of nonchalance. Dave gave an amazed chuckle, and glanced at Puck, who'd come to squat along the edge.

"She's fearless," Puck said wryly. "And completely honest. I think you passed her test."

Dave let his face go worried, and he looked away across the pool. Puck's smile slipped, and he immediately put a hand out to Dave. "What is it? Did that really bother you, because I can—"

Dave's hand gripped Puck's firmly, and he gave one enormous tug, moving back in time to avoid the shocked, shouting form of Puck tumbling into the water with a splash. He surfaced, gasping, and Dave dunked him again. This time Puck got wise and swam to the other side of the pool before coming up. "What the fuck, man?" he spluttered.

"Thanks for the heads up," Dave called cheerfully. He saw Sarah watching them with a delighted grin, and gave her a smile and a nod in return. She went back to her iPod, giggling.

"Completely fucking unfair," Puck protested, slogging over to Dave, watching him warily for any further assaults. Dave held up his hands in peace, then crossed his arms.

"Yeah," he said. "Whatever. You see if I give _you_ any help when you meet my dad. He's going to eat you for lunch."

Puck paused, a few feet from Dave, looking uncertainly at him. "You – you're going to introduce me to your dad?" He sounded surprised.

"Yeah, and it's going to completely suck." He heard the desperate quality in his own voice, and he sighed in exasperation at himself. "Jesus Christ. I could hear the whole conversation in my head this morning. My dad only cares about one thing."

Puck was right next to him now, and he reached for him without any hesitation. Dave glanced at Sarah, but she was prone and motionless under the warm sun. He let Puck tug him into an embrace in the water, and leaned their heads together.

"I'm guessing it's not hockey," Puck said. Dave didn't even laugh. He watched Puck's lips with miserable hunger, and thought, _God, it's going to be like this every fucking day at school – except I won't even be able to do this, to hug him or touch him or anything. I won't even be able to_ look_ at him without being fucking slushied. _

"Dave," Puck said.

"You really think we should even bother with this?" Dave said, low enough that Sarah wouldn't hear. "What's the fucking point if we're just going to get shit for it from everybody in the fucking world?"

Puck stared at him. "The point is that I love you, dumbass," he said, loud and angry and strong. Sarah sat up and watched them, taking out her earbuds, and Dave blinked under her calm regard, but she wasn't doing anything but watching.

"I love you, too," he whispered. "But – "

"No," Puck said. "Nothing but. That's all that matters. You're a fucking stud, Dave, and I'm the bad-ass of bad-asses, not counting Lauren. We can do this. It's going to suck sometimes, but everybody takes flack, even me. I spent my day in the port-a-potty. Nobody's gonna be able to top that. We've already won."

He had no idea what he should do about the dizzying, overwhelming need he had to kiss Puck, but it was a moot question, because Puck grabbed him and kissed him first. Sarah let out a little squeak and lay back down with her earbuds in a hurry.

"You really think we can do that at school?" Dave asked, when Puck had let him go.

"Maybe not in the middle of class," Puck said, with a grin. "But definitely before, and after, and in the locker room…"

"The _locker room?"_ Dave choked. He really did _not_ need that fantasy on top of all the others, he really _didn't,_ but _god,_ now it was never going to leave him alone. He leaned back on the side of the pool, dizzy.

"Yeah," Puck nodded, with a wicked grin. "Dude. I can't wait to try what April Rhodes did with us in the showers…"


	7. Chapter 7

Dave's Subaru was making funny noises again. Cars and Dave got along about as well as girls and Dave did: they never really had much chemistry, but he liked them okay. He was happy when his car worked, and when it didn't, he took it into the shop, or his dad took a look at it.

Now he found himself wondering, _Does__ Puck __fix __cars?_ He had an image in his head of Puck like Arthur Fonzarelli on that old show, done up with grease and a cigarette pack under one rolled-up t-shirt sleeve, and his black motorcycle jacket. _Damn._ That was apparently enough to get him going, even after their long night together.

Puck hadn't said anything about tonight, though. He'd see him for lunch, and then he could ask if… well, if maybe, Puck might… even if his mother wasn't doing a double shift, if he could…

If Dave had to be honest with himself, he'd always been a good sleeper, slept long and hard, and was perfectly fine sleeping alone. And having Puck in his bed had, so far, only led to _less_ sleep, with more interruptions. But it was all worth it, to Dave, because having him within arm's reach, _all__ night,_ whenever he wanted him… that was something worth dealing with a little less sleep over. Hell, he'd lose a couple hours a night, if it meant he could be having fantastic sex during those couple hours.

He turned off the key, listening to the oddball sounds more closely, trying to commit them to memory. Maybe after shopping he'd call his dad and see if he knew a good mechanic. He made his way into the grocery store and snagged a cart.

"God, Dave. You're not dead?"

Dave looked across the display of bananas and avocados to see a familiar dark-haired smirk – not the one he'd seen on his pillow that morning, but one he'd become very familiar with over the past year. He relaxed and grinned. "Hey, Santana. No, not dead. Not even mostly dead."

"Well, that would have explained why you haven't called me even _once_ since June," she complained. "There's no way you could have lost contact with me, seeing as how I put my cell number into your phone personally."

"Yes, it's practically engraved on my DNA," he agreed. "I've been busy, that's all."

"Busy." She watched him with a fierce, probing expression. He tried not to look her in the eye and felt the avocados, placing two ripe and two semi-ripe ones in his basket. Finally she came to him, grabbed him by the arm, and hauled him across the produce station to the little Starbucks in the corner of the grocery.

"You're seeing somebody," she said, hands on her hips as she pushed him into a chair. Her voice wasn't asking a question; it was almost as though she was _requiring_ this of him. "Dave." Her eyes sparked. "You're _seeing_ somebody."

"I – yeah," he said, weakly. "I am."

It hit him, suddenly, that the guy he'd fallen for was the guy Santana had once described to him in great detail as _that__ Lima__ loser._She hadn't been impressed by him at all. She hadn't really _seen__ him,_had she? She'd dated him, for God's sake, and she'd done the nasty with him, and apparently hung out with him quite a bit through junior year before he started digging Lauren – and she'd never really _seen_ him.

"Well?" she said, expectantly. "Who _is_ he? How'd you meet him? It's not Hummel, is it, because I think I'd have to kick your ass."

"No," he snorted. "It's not him."

"Then who?"

He considered her, wondering if she even deserved to know. And then he thought about their conversation the night before, and how he'd said _This __is __too __fucking __good __not __to__ tell __someone __about._ Santana had been his friend, kind of. She'd helped him figure himself out, kind of. She'd been an ally. She could be one now.

"If I tell you, you have to agree you won't tell anybody else until I say you can," he warned. "And I'll find out, if you tell anyway."

"What, am I five?" she said, rolling her eyes. "Do I need to pinky swear or spit on my palm or something?"

"I'm serious, Lopez. I'm not messing around here."

"Okay. I agree. My lips are sealed." She slid into the seat across from him. Now they were on equal footing, and she didn't look quite as sure of herself. "So he's somebody serious, huh? Not just a fuckbuddy?"

"It started out as kind of a summer thing," he admitted. "But now…" He let himself smile, let her see some of the feelings he'd been having for the past two weeks, that had come to a head last night, and this morning. "He's my boyfriend."

"Dave," she said, startled. "Wow. That's great." Santana shook her head, watching his face. "I think it's a little ironic, huh, that I can't even get my best friend to agree to date me, even though she's already said she loved me, and you – " She sighed in frustration and defeat, then put a hand on his. "Forget it. I'm really happy for you."

"Thanks," he said. "Although you might not be when you find out who it is."

"Really?" She cocked her head. "Hmm. Let's see. It's not Blaine?"

He choked. "God. No."

"Good. I think that would have warranted me beating you up, too. How about that sophomore who works behind the counter at the Lima Bean?"

"Evan?" Dave wrinkled his brow. "I didn't know he liked guys."

"I've had my suspicions. I'm running out of gay boys, Karofsky. Unless – " She squinted at his face again. "Dave, tell me you're not talking about _Puck.__"_

He let the blush on his face tell the whole story for him, while he kept his eyes trained on the table. "_Dave!__"_ she snarled, and he couldn't help it – he just _smiled,_ big and full and fucking _in __love._

"Oh my god," she said, mildly.

"Yeah," he said. When he looked up, she looked like she was wrestling with it, and losing. "You mean you knew… about him?"

"Believe me, our pillow talk was more like foreplay," she said. "His stories about two guys together were just about the hottest thing I've heard since that movie _One __Night __Stand._"

He paused, letting that sink in. "But you're a… I mean, you like _girls,__"_ he said.

She shrugged. "So? Two guys are hot. Doesn't mean I want to be one of them. I just like to watch." She bumped his fist with hers. "Jeez, Dave. Didn't take you long to hook the sex shark. Good luck with that."

"What do you mean?" Her teasing tone made him feel somehow uneasy.

"I mean Puck's always looking for something new. He's creative, I'll give him that, and the 'anything that moves' bi stereotype was apparently coined for him. But seriously – for a real relationship? Not your best choice." She shook her head, regretfully. "At least you'll learn a lot. He's got moves. He can do this one thing with his fingers that –"

"Thanks," he said, a little too flatly. "I think I'll let him tell me about that one."

Santana visibly backtracked, and her voice went soft and sweet. "Dave. Forgive me. You're clearly into him. And why not? He's hot, he's knowledgeable and he's –" She stopped abruptly. "What about Lauren?"

"He—" He was about to say, _he__ broke __up __with __her,_ but when he thought about it, Puck never actually did that, did he? He said he was going to call her, but had he? "I'm not sure," he finished, uncertain. "He wants to tell her. I don't know if he did yet." Dave was beginning to wonder if he'd made a big mistake. _Maybe __I__ misjudged __him__ – __how __could __he __really __be__ into __me __when __he __could __have __anybody? __God__ – __pretty __much _had_ had __everybody?_

"I'm sure he will," Santana promised, in such a way that made him think she was really saying _You__ poor, __gullible __idiot._ "Hey, Dave, I'll be around most of the summer. You can call me any time, day or night, understand?"

"Okay," he said. He tried to smile. "Thanks."

"No problem," she said, scraping the chair on the floor as she pushed it out. "You take care of yourself, all right, Dave?"

"Right," he nodded. "You too."

He let his face fall back to neutral, considering his next course of action. _Shopping.__ Then__ back__ to__ the__ Lapeers__'__.__ Then__… __rip__ my __heart__ out__ and__ step__ on__ it__ some.__ Yeah,__ that__'__s __it._

* * *

><p>As it turned out, when he got back to the Lapeers', he realized he wasn't the first to return. Puck's truck was already in the driveway. He walked slowly up the walk to the backyard and peered through the gate. No one was in the backyard.<p>

_Maybe __he__'__s __waiting __inside __with __news__ about __Lauren,_ he thought, picking his way through the grass – time to get out the lawn mower – around to the front. _Or __maybe __he__'__s __already __talked __to __Finn __and __he__ needs __to__ kick __my __ass?_

He stood on the front porch, holding the groceries, for a lot longer than he probably needed to. Considering _he_ was the one with the key, and _he_ was the one the Lapeers had entrusted their house to. _And_ hadn't he been the guy Puck had climbed on top of last night and just _done,_ without hardly waiting for permission? _Shouldn__'__t__ that __count __for __something?_ he thought desperately. _Shouldn__'__t __that __mean __something?_

_Yeah,_ his brain answered. _It __means __you__'__re__ a __sucker. __It __means __he__'__s __got __you __fooled._

"Hey," he heard, and he looked up to see Puck standing with the door open, on the other side of the screen door, watching him with an odd expression. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he said, stepping through quickly, not meeting Puck's eye. "How'd the Underwoods' go?"

"Fine," Puck said, and he sounded unconvinced. "Dude. What's going on?"

"Nothing." He carried the groceries into the kitchen and began putting them away, methodically, one at a time, everything in their proper place. _Shredded __wheat. __Pears. __Applesauce. __Lowfat __cottage __cheese. __Gelato, __mint __chocolate __chunk, __Puck__'__s __favorite __flavor...__ shit._

"Dave," Puck said, taking hold of his arm, and he swung around to face him, gritting his teeth.

"You're a player," he said, and it came out louder and harsher than he'd intended. "You're a player, and you like to fuck around, and… and you don't want a boyfriend. You want a fuckbuddy, someone you can _do,_ and who'll do you, until you get bored and ready to move on."

Puck didn't flinch, but he watched carefully, stone-faced, until Dave was through ranting.

"Are you done?" he wanted to know. "Or there are other fucking insights about me you might want to throw in my face?"

Dave just glared at him. Puck glared right back. They were pretty evenly matched in the glaring department.

"You want me to tell you about you now?" said Puck.

"Fuck you," Dave shot back.

"Did that," Puck said. "And it was pretty much awesome. But no, really; let me tell you about you." He came at Dave obliquely, like he was herding him, and Dave backed up, not taking his eyes off Puck's.

"You're a winner, Dave," he said. "You could have been captain of the football team, if you'd wanted to be, if hockey hadn't been your thing. You're smart. Things come pretty easy for you. I bet you can write a paper without getting any red marks on it. I bet your cumulative PSAT score started with a number two. I bet nobody's ever told _you_ you're a fucking loser and you'll never amount to anything."

Dave opened his mouth, but he didn't say anything. Puck wasn't finished. He pointed an accusing finger at Dave. "You're going to college. It's an automatic thing, no question. You can go anywhere you fucking want. You'll probably get a scholarship; lots of them. You can probably go to Harvard or Yale or fucking MIT, if you want. Whatever you want to be, you'll do well at it, and I bet someday you're going to be _somebody,_ Dave. Like, somebody important. Work at the fucking White House. Who knows."

The finger landed on his chest and knocked Dave back a step. "You get to decide who you want to be, instead of the world deciding for you. Because you're a winner. You can have whatever you want. _Whoever_ you want. And guys like you? They don't stay with guys like me." He dropped his hand. "They just don't," he finished, hoarsely.

Dave watched that hand drop, felt himself hurting inside for Puck, for all the shit he'd dealt with that Dave never had. "But I want _you,_" he said.

"For now," Puck said. "I'm okay with that. But you already told me what your dad was going to say about me. You _told_ me he only cares about one thing."

"That's my _dad,_" Dave said. "Not me. I care about – about –"

"Yeah." Puck shook his head, sighing bitterly. "Go ahead. Tell me what you care about."

Dave's anger had vanished, leaving behind an ache, and he had to touch him to fill it. He stepped in, sliding his arms around Puck's back, pulling him into his chest, and Puck only resisted for a brief moment before he let him.

"I care that you started your own business," he said, quietly, close to Puck's face. "That's really impressive, man. You know how to sell your business, too; you know how to market it, how to get people to want it. That's not easy. People pay for that. You're tenacious – uh, you keep trying, you never give up. You've got standards. You care what your clients think, but you also care how well you do. It's pretty uncommon anymore." He took a breath. "I care that you're a really talented performer. No, really," he said, as Puck stiffened and tried to pull away. "I don't know dick about music but I can tell you've got a fucking awesome voice and – and you play guitar like you were born to it, and you've got a way with the crowd, just pulling them in… it wasn't just me, I know it, everybody else felt it. It's _something,_ man. It's really something."

Puck's breath was coming heavy and uneven, and Dave didn't realize what was going on until he turned his body in Dave's grip and he felt Puck, hard and hot against his leg. "Sorry," he said, fumbling for Dave's mouth, grabbing his face in his hands, "sorry, I know, I was listening, but holy shit, you could say _anything_ into my ear like that and I'm just going to want you to fuck me."

"Oh," said Dave, and it was like zero to eighty million in five seconds, in response to those words from Puck, and he was _ready,_ ready to do exactly what Puck had said, right there, in the kitchen.

"Upstairs," he said, and Puck went, just went right upstairs, and Dave thought, _Huh._

It took them a few minutes to get out of their clothes, but it didn't calm him down, it just fired him further, watching Puck's skin slowly emerge from beneath his t-shirt and shorts, stripes of golden flesh, marked by the striations of muscle and hair that made his body so different from that of a girl's, and Dave _loved_ it, loved his body with every fiber of his being. He just wanted to touch every inch of it, make him feel as good as he did when Puck was there with him, for him.

"I want _you,_" he said, lowering Puck onto the bed even before he got all his clothes off, wanting him laid out in front of him, to see him there, waiting for him. "I don't want you ever to feel like you're not fucking good enough for me. You're exactly what I want. I'm not settling, and you're not convenient. You're who I'd choose, if I had the whole fucking school to pick from. You. Okay?"

"For Pete's sake," Puck said, squirming under Dave's barrage of words. "Do you have to keep _talking?__"_

"Yeah, apparently I do," Dave affirmed. "You, thinking you're not good enough? Not okay. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I'd put it in the same category as valedictorian or getting into fucking MIT. You got it now?"

Puck's flush ran all the way down to his navel, and Dave traced the outline past that and lower, making him gasp. "I thought I was the one reminding _you_ about how great you are."

"I don't need it," said Dave, following the curve of Puck's leg, under his thigh, and into the crease of his ass, spread wide for him, wider still against the press of his wet fingers. "My ego's pretty well intact, if you don't count the shit about how I look. You, on the other hand, could use some fucking help."

"Oh – oh god," Puck groaned, as Dave's fingers impaled him with one hard thrust. "Dave…"

"Yeah," he said, leaning into the thrust, crooking his fingers, aiming for that spot Puck had taught him about, the one that made him see white and come apart at the seams. "That's me. I'm the one fucking you. I'm the one dreaming about you all night, and all day, apparently, because you've taken over my fucking brain with your gorgeous body and your music and your completely insane appreciation of me. I'm the one who's fucking in love with you, and I'm so fucking _scared_ I'm going to lose you to some other girl or guy who's better. Or just… next."

Puck's eyes were huge, bewildered, rolling up under the force of Dave's fingers. "God, _no,_" he gasped. "Baby – I don't want anybody else. I don't. You're _it.__" _

He wanted to believe it, wanted it so bad that he was crying, the tears washing down over his face and splashing onto Puck's chest, right there on the bed. He had no reason to trust Puck, and plenty of reasons not to – but right then, he felt like he _could. _He could trust him, even if it was a risk.

_And __what __the__ hell __isn__'__t?_ said a voice inside him, soft and warm. It was Puck's voice. The voice that had changed him, that had made him come to terms with who he was, who he'd been running away from all his life. The voice that had sung to him, given him faith in himself, in his body. The voice that had told him _I __fucking __love __you, __Dave._

"I want this," he said, slipping out of Puck, hearing the regretful sound Puck made as his fingers left his body, and wanting to be inside as fast as he could, just pressed up against him, into him, forgetting the condom, forgetting everything except _I __want __this, __right __now._ And _oh__ god __oh__ god __oh, _it was hotter and tighter and slicker than he knew what to do with, and he saw Puck's shocked face looking up at him.

"I'm not sorry," he panted, leaning over Puck to stroke him, knowing he himself was close, and not wanting to be a bad fuck and come too soon, but _holy__ shit. _"This, you and me – you're taking a risk on me, just like I'm taking one on you. And I – I trust you, Noah. This is me, trusting you."

"You – okay," he breathed. "Okay. I got it. I – I won't let you down, baby, I swear."

He tried to give Puck that same angle he'd had before with his fingers, lifting his hips up with both hands, and he heard the groan when he got it right. "Dave – " said Puck, and his amazed, overwhelmed look was like bread and butter to Dave, filling him up, satisfying him like nothing else ever had.

"So much more," he said, locking eyes with Puck, willing him to feel what he felt through his gaze. "More – everything. I can't even tell you."

"You don't have to," Puck assured him, thrusting up against his hand. "Trust me – I feel it." Dave could feel his tension mounting, and he was abruptly _squeezed_ by Puck's body – _god_, he hadn't felt _that_ before. "Fuck, Dave, _give__ it __to __me.__"_

"Tell me what you want," he urged. "Tell me just what you want."

Puck's head fell back, eyes closed, lost in sensation. "I want to feel – oh, god, Dave – I want to feel you coming _inside_ me –"

Dave's brain short-circuited on the concept, and as he arched up inside Puck, driving himself deeper, he could only think _When__ do _I _get __to __feel __that__ – __and __can __he__ really__ - ?_ And judging from Puck's reaction, he really _could._

Dave took his time winding down, letting himself enjoy every last bit of sensation, each gentle movement clearly still enough to provoke moans from Puck, and a couple from himself, too. It was both more intense and more subtle than he'd had felt before. He tried not to feel self-conscious as he let himself settle on top of Puck, but loved the noises Puck made as Dave's body pressed him into the bed.

"I don't think I want to go back to… the way we were doing it before," Dave admitted, feeling the racing of his own heart, and Puck's underneath him. "This is too good."

Puck nodded slowly. Dave propped himself up on his elbow, watching Puck's features ease, the lines in his face from the stress of the moment smooth out to gentle softness. "I think… I think I can be okay with that."

"You know what it means," Dave said. Puck nodded, gazing up at him. His lips parted, just a little, and Dave watched them, anticipating words, but he just took a resolute breath. Eventually, though, he spoke.

"Just us. Nobody else. Yeah, man… it's okay. More than okay."

Dave had to close his eyes, then, because the visual of Puck beneath him was suddenly too much to bear. Puck pulled him down again, gripping him tight, his last whisper almost too faint to hear.

"Nobody's loved me like that before."

* * *

><p>"Hey, man," Puck said. He saw Dave duck out of the bathroom; he grinned at him and pointed at the phone, mouthing the word <em>Finn.<em> Dave nodded with a tentative smile before returning to the bathroom, and Puck felt that crazy clenching in his gut whenever he saw Dave smile at him.

"Dude," Finn said. "What's going on?"

"You're not going to believe the summer I've been having," Puck said. "I wanna tell you about it. You got time tonight for pizza and video games?"

"Your house or mine?" Finn sounded normal, just ordinary Finn, and it was kind of awesome to have that feeling inside him about Dave – not to mention the sweet ache left behind after Dave's cock had fucked him like _that__ –_ and Finn, his best friend, in the same space.

"Yours," Puck decided. "My Ma's home tonight and she's… well, you know Ma."

_Home__ tonight,_ Puck thought with a disappointed twinge. That meant he would be home, too… unless he could convince her he was at Finn's. But Finn was pretty much a truth-teller, and he probably wouldn't go along with it. _Maybe __if __I __hold __the __pizza __over __his __head? __Can __I __reach __that __high?_

"I'll order. One mushroom and pineapple – totally nasty – and one pepperoni. Anything else?"

Puck grinned. "Get those breadsticks, with the cinnamon and the frosting. Oh, and – hang on." He put the phone on mute and called to Dave, "What do you like on pizza?"

Dave's face was slower to come around the corner this time, and he was wet and slick from the shower. Puck licked his lips. _Down,__ boy._ "Anything, really."

"But if you had a favorite, what would it be?" he persisted. "It's just one of those things your boyfriend should know about you, right?"

Dave's smile made him go gooshy inside, but he hung on to the phone and resisted the urge to head over there to give him all kinds of tongue. "Okay – well, it's kind of weird. I like pineapple and mushroom."

Puck stared at him for a second, then smirked. "Totally weird, but whatever you want." He waved Dave back into the shower, thinking with bemusement, _In __the __crazy __world__ that __has __led __me__ and __Dave __together __this __summer, __I __guess __it__'__s __not __so __much __more __crazy __that __we __would __have __the __same __pizza __order?_

"Dude, you still there?" he heard from the phone, and un-muted it in a hurry.

"Yeah – sorry. Never mind. I'll see you tonight at six, all right?"

"Sure. Kurt might be there, too."

"Uh. Yeah," he said, blinking. _Well, __that __puts __a __whole __new __spin __on __hanging __out __at __Finn__'__s __house._"See you then."

Dave was still in the shower, and he slid open the glass door and stepped in with him. Dave's big, surprised smile came back; it was like he was saying, _What? __More? __I__ get __this, __too?_ Puck wondered when he might run out of these moments, when Dave started to take him for granted – but, maybe, just maybe, that might not happen. Maybe he'd _always_ be this appreciative of Puck. It was a nice thought.

"Good news," he said, reaching past Dave for the soap. "And bad news, maybe."

"Okay," Dave said. "Hit me."

It was way too good to pass up, and Puck slapped his ass, making Dave's eyes go round and his expression almost indignant. "Fuck you," Dave said, with a surprised laugh.

"Yeah," Puck said, with relish. "Me, next. I want _you_ to feel that fucking amazing bareback coming thing. God damn, Dave." He watched Dave's pupils relax into black circles as the idea hit him. "About that," he added, hesitantly, "uh, I've been, like, tested and stuff… but I don't know for sure. I mean, I'm supposed to be clean, but I guess you never really know? So I thought I'd mention that…"

"It's okay," Dave said gently, and brought his face over to kiss him. "It's okay. I trust you."

"Yeah?" he said. _Damn, __that__ was __nice._ "Most people don't."

"I'm not most people. Now come on, what was the news?"

"Pizza tonight at Finn's, at six. I figured I'd go first, spill the beans, give him a little time to get used to it, then you can come over. Six-thirty? Seven?"

"Something like that," Dave agreed, after a minute. Puck could feel his body's tension increasing, but he didn't worry about it. Dave was courageous, and could think on his feet. Puck knew he'd be fine. _He__'__s__ fucking __awesome,_ Puck thought in dreamy, sappy appreciation, and kissed him again, using that tongue he'd been thinking about earlier.

"Was that the good news or the bad news?" Dave asked, rather out of breath, when he was done.

"Uh, Finn said Kurt would probably be there, too," Puck said, and watched Dave jerk back, blinking. "He's Finn's _brother,_" Puck reminded him.

"I know… I know. Just… _Jesus. _I guess I'm going to have to deal with him at some point, but... all at once. It's kind of a lot."

"You can do it," Puck encouraged. "I'll be there. It'll be okay. Then it'll be done, and we can enjoy the rest of the summer without worrying. One more person who knows. Easier going back to school, right?"

Dave nodded reluctantly, stroking Puck's chest without appearing to think about it. Puck enjoyed his unconscious touch for the moment. Then it was his turn to be surprised when Dave said, "I told Santana about us today."

"Santana? No shit." Puck watched his face. "What'd she say?"

Dave gave him a wry grimace. "She didn't think you'd be interested in sticking around much longer. Apparently you're pretty hot goods."

"Ah," Puck nodded, understanding. "That's why you…"

"Yeah," Dave said. He cleared his throat, shutting off the water. "I'm sorry about that."

"S'okay," Puck said, shrugging. "It all came out okay, didn't it? We do okay fighting and getting over stuff." He sluiced water off his legs into the floor of the shower, then did the same for Dave without asking if he could. Dave grinned down at him.

"Yeah," he said. "We do. And the makeup sex is pretty hot too."

"Ah, the _real_ reason for the fight comes out," Puck cried, attempting to wrestle Dave out of the shower and onto the bath mat, but they just ended up with their arms around each other against the wall of the tile again. Eventually they came up for air, but Puck could feel Dave's closeness all along his body, his face, and he just hovered there, drinking in the moment.

"You felt fucking amazing," Dave murmured. "Like that. Nothing but us. You ever done that before?"

"Just with girls," Puck said, thinking of Quinn. "And only a couple times. Yeah. Fucking amazing is a good word."

"That's two words, dumbass," Dave said, smiling, and Puck saw the love coming through, clear and strong, and the words sounded nothing but kind.

"You said that before," Puck replied, guessing his smile looked similar.

While they were toweling off, Puck added, "Santana already knew about me, liking guys. And she knew about _you,_ liking guys."

"Yeah," Dave said. Puck noticed he wasn't bothering to wear a towel around his waist this time, and he smiled a private smile of victory. Maybe someday he'd even convince Dave he was as fucking gorgeous as Puck knew he was. "She guessed about us. I mean, that you were the one I was… uh."

"Was _what,_ Karofsky?" Puck said, raising both eyebrows. "Was _fucking?__"_

"I was going to say, was _in__ love __with,__"_ he said. "But that works. Yeah, next time I tell somebody, I'll lead with that. 'See that guy, Puck? Check it out, I'm boning him_,_ and guess what else? I'm in love with him, too.'"

"Fucking awesome," Puck said, cracking up. "You can try it on your dad."

The look of terror was barely masked by Dave's own laughter. "Jesus. I think I just might. That'd distract him pretty well."

Puck let him have a little distance while he put on his clothes, knowing he was self-conscious enough, but Dave seemed to do okay. When they were dressed, Puck kissed him again and said, "You know, I'm pretty good at impressing parents, when I have to. You might be surprised. We'll work on your dad. Don't stress about it."

"Too late," Dave said, but he looked somewhat calmer as Puck headed down the stairs. "See you at Hudson's house at six-thirty."

"Love you," Puck called up the stairs, before he realized what he was doing. He slowed down, then paused, waiting in the silence.

Dave appeared at the top of the stairs, looking down at him. His smile was soft and surprised. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, man," Puck said back, equally soft.

"Okay." Dave nodded, then added, "Love you too."

Puck's shit-eating grin stayed with him for over a half hour after he got home, long enough for Sarah to say, "You saw _Dave,_ didn't you?" and for him to get through scribbling two verses and a chorus of a song before he had to go back to work.


	8. Chapter 8

_(Author's note: Looking at the trajectory of this story, I'm guessing five more chapters, but it could be more or less, depending on how the muse strikes me. I just love these guys. -amy)_

* * *

><p>The odd feeling of ordinary followed Puck over to Finn's house as he walked the three blocks, up through the park and cutting through the Reynolds' yard, just as he'd done hundreds of times before. Some of those times, when he'd gone to Finn's in the past, he'd had a secret to tell. It wasn't any different from one of those times. <em>I never had one quite like this one, though,<em> he couldn't help but think.

He knew there was nothing to worry about. Finn was his _best friend,_ for God's sake. He had a _gay brother._ He was already 95% there. He just needed to insert the words _Karofsky_ and _boyfriend_ into a sentence that would make sense to Finn. And probably _not_ include the words _fucking_ or _in love with._ At least not today. Give him a little time to adjust.

Finn's mom was in the front yard, gardening. She smiled at him, kneeling in the dirt. "Hey, Puck," she said, wiping her brow with the sleeve of her gardening glove. "How's your summer going?"

"Pretty amazing," he said, grinning back. "Thanks, Mrs. Hudson. Is Finn inside?"

"He went to get the pizza; he'll be back in a few minutes. Kurt's in there, though, if you can pry those earbuds out of his ears. The new Lady Gaga CD came out this week and he's practically mesmerized."

Puck made a face. "Thanks. I'll do my best."

"Good to see you, Puck," said Mrs. Hudson, and he waved at her as the screen door slammed behind him.

Sure enough, Kurt was seated at the kitchen table, drinking what looked like cappuccino and staring at the wall with a vacant, dreamy expression. He only glanced at Puck as he entered and gave him a brief wave with his fingers.

"Hey, Kurt," Puck said, sliding into the seat adjacent. _No time like the present,_ he thought, steeling himself. "I've got some news."

Kurt reluctantly unhooked one earbud and gave Puck about half of his attention. "What is it?" he asked.

"I'm seeing somebody," he said. "Somebody you know."

Kurt waited, but when nothing else was forthcoming, he rolled his eyes and said testily, "Is this a game of 20 questions, or are you going to tell me and get it over with?"

"Sure," Puck offered. "See if you can guess. Go on. I bet you'll never get it."

Kurt gestured vaguely with his hands. "Coach Beiste."

Puck busted a gut. "Try again," he said, when his laughter had subsided.

Kurt's lip twitched, and he tipped his head at Puck. "Brittany."

"Tapped that already, when I was fourteen." He snapped his fingers. "More."

Kurt covered his smile with a considering hand. "Mmmm. Oh, I know. Mr. Schue."

"_Way_ too much drama. Seriously. Come on, can't you do any better than that?"

Now Kurt was laughing too. "Um. Karofsky."

Puck turned his gaze to the fridge. "You guys got any beer?"

Kurt ripped the other earbud out and hit the table with a slap. "Puck," he demanded. "_Karofsky?"_

He crouched behind the fridge door, rummaging for something, _anything,_ behind the far-too-old cottage cheese. "You're quick; I'll give you that, Hummel."

"Puck, I just said that because… because it's _ridiculous,"_ Kurt hissed. "You can't be serious."

"Yeah, Kurt, I can," Puck said. Incredibly, he found a beer in the back, and he popped it open. "I am. Me and Dave. Serious is exactly what it is." He took a sip. _Skunky – how old is this beer? _"He's changed; you saw it last year, with the Bullywhips and everything."

Kurt closed his eyes and knitted his forehead into a scowl, throwing his hands out. "There are so many things wrong with this scenario, I'm not even sure where to _begin._ For one thing, Dave's so far in the closet, I think he lives in Narnia. And _you_ – since when do you like _guys?"_

Puck shrugged, taking another cautious sip. It wasn't awful. "Since, like, forever. I'm not hung up on plumbing, dude."

"Don't call me dude," Kurt said irritably, waving away the word like a pesky fly.

"And Dave's closet door is open," Puck added, indicating with his can of beer. "Or at least it will be in the fall. We're not hiding this. It's way too fucking good."

"Hiding…" Kurt looked more closely at Puck. "I can't believe this. You're serious. _Karofsky?"_

Puck nodded. "And he feels really horrible about what happened with you, du- Kurt, before you went to Dalton. He's still freaking out about it."

Kurt sighed in frustration. "I know. He apologized already, before prom, even. It's – I'm over that. I wish he would just drop it."

"I don't think he can," Puck said. He leaned back on the countertop, watching Kurt fret. "You're really surprised, about me and guys? I figured you of all people would be able to tell. I mean, I was totally awful to you for so long."

"And – _that_ means you're gay?" Kurt shook his head again. "I think you're going to have to explain that one to me."

"You know, homophobia." Puck said, waving the beer around. "Dealing with my own attraction to guys, yadda yadda. And I'm not gay. I like girls too. It's just not a big deal."

"Puck, it _is_ a big deal, to me, and to all the other students at McKinley who are in the closet because they're afraid to be themselves." Kurt glared at him again. "Afraid, partly, because of how _you_ are."

"Were," Puck corrected. "Just like Dave. We're totally reformed, I'm telling you."

"Fine." Kurt's look became keen. "David said he would help me start a P-FLAG chapter this fall, when we get back to school. Will you help too? If you guys are _really_ coming out, you'll help with this. It would make a difference, in the climate at the school."

Puck crossed his arms. "Okay; yeah, sure. I'll do it."

Kurt stared back at him. "Really?" he said, in a completely different tone of voice. He sounded baffled. "Why?"

"Because you asked. And because I'm fucking in love with him, and I don't care who knows."

Kurt's eyebrows slowly lowered, and he blinked at Puck. Puck stared him down until Kurt looked away, his gaze sliding to the floor.

"You can ask Dave yourself," he added. "He's going to be here any minute." Puck smirked. "Think I should tell Finn about this, before I give him tongue in front of him?"

Kurt's snort of laughter wasn't masked by his scowl. "If you don't want him to spray his Mountain Dew all over the family room, _yes."_

"All right, then." Puck felt the tension that had been hovering inside, just under his rib cage, ease. He took a deep breath and cracked his neck.

Kurt hesitated, then approached Puck, stopping a few steps short of him. Then he said, "Oh, hell," and went the rest of the way, throwing his arms around Puck.

"Whoa, Hummel," Puck said, with a startled laugh. "Dude. I'm not suddenly going to, like, go to the mall with you, or listen to that stupid Adam Lambert guy. I'm just me, you know?"

"I know, Puck," said Kurt, earnestly, letting him go. "I also know it's not easy, what you just did. I just wanted to say thank you."

Puck shrugged. "One down, one to go. And I haven't puked yet."

"Always a good sign," Kurt said. They heard the front door open and close. "I bet that's Finn with the pizza." He paused in the doorway to the family room. "He's your best friend. He'll be fine with it."

"I know," said Puck. He set the half-drunk skunky beer in the sink and squared his shoulders. "Things won't be any different. Right?"

Kurt's look was a little pitying. "Yes," he said. "They will be. But it's worth it."

"Yeah?" He heard his voice come out small and far more worried than he'd meant it to be. "You think?"

"I know," Kurt said firmly. "Trust me, being out of the closet is a lot easier than trying to hide something like this. You'll get it over with, and the two of you…." His face was alight now with possibility. "Together, you could make some significant changes at McKinley."

"We're a pretty awesome team," he said quietly. He could almost see it: he and Dave, talking to underclassmen, walking together in the hall, garnering respect from the rest of the senior class. Making it okay, to be who they were.

And then, as he watched him, Kurt's face _changed,_ and Puck had to wonder what lame-ass emotion was showing on his own face to have inspired such an expression. "Oh, Puck," he said, sounding a little choked up.

"Don't start with me, Hummel," Puck warned him, looking away, blinking. "I am totally _not_ going to cry in front of you."

"You cried when the Warblers sang at Regionals," Kurt pointed out. "Finn said."

Finn appeared in the doorway, holding four flat boxes. "What did I say?"

Puck swiped his eyes crossly. "That was completely different," he argued. "That's the music. I'm fucking powerless against it. It's, like, my kryptonite."

"Green kryptonite or red kryptonite?" Finn asked, setting the pizzas on the stove.

"There are different colors?" Kurt shook his head at their collective pitying look. "Sorry, my brain's far too cluttered with _actual _information for there to be any additional room for _pretend _information."

"Yeah, like the names of the characters from Broadway musicals are any less useless," Puck muttered.

"Nice double negative," Kurt shot back. "That's really sophomoric, Puckerman."

Finn pulled a chair out from the table and sat, kicking back and stretching his long legs. "So... you said you wanted to tell me about your summer," he said to Puck. "What's up?"

Puck glanced at Kurt. "Well," he said, and stopped.

Finn watched them exchange looks with a wary expression. "Wait – do I need to be prepared here? Is it good or bad?"

"It's good," Kurt said. Puck felt a flush sweep over him, and Kurt smiled, watching him. He nudged Puck with one finger. "Right?"

"Yeah," Puck agreed. "It's… it's fucking awesome."

* * *

><p>Dave's heart was beating double time, his hands clammy even in the heat of the summer evening. <em>It's just Finn,<em> his rational side reminded himself. His rational side sounded a lot like his dad. _You've known him since second grade. Never mind the last two years which you spent calling him names and coloring him with markers. You've both grown up since then. You can treat each other like civilized people._

And then there was Kurt. Kurt, whose horrified grimace had haunted him since that day in junior year when he'd finally snapped. Kurt, who'd made him feel worse about himself than anybody ever had, with just a few choice words. Kurt, who was standing in the doorway, saying, "Hey, David."

"Hi, Kurt," he said.

Dave felt a little like a lab specimen under Kurt's curious regard, as though he might get squashed under a glass slide or poked with a pin without the scientist realizing he'd done anything hurtful. He squirmed and glanced at the shrubbery.

"How's your summer going?" he asked.

"Don't," Kurt said, his voice quiet. "I know. Just come inside, okay?"

He held open the door for Dave with one slender arm, and it didn't matter how many pounds he'd lost (seven) or how many inches Kurt had grown (at least two), when he stood next to Kurt, Dave still felt like a water buffalo beside a gazelle. He edged past him, trying not to let any part of his skin brush against him as he passed through to the foyer.

Kurt looked uncertain, and as the silence went on for far too long, he got more and more irritated and disgruntled. "Are you… um." His face contracted. "You're okay?"

"I'm not sure what Puck told you," he said, "but as far as I know, everything's five by five."

"I don't mean that. I mean _us._ He said you were still worried about that." Kurt's head tilted several degrees, zeroing in on Dave's stunned expression.

_Us. _"I don't think there is an us, Kurt."

Kurt ran a hand over his face, like there was a mist, and he was trying to clear it. "Dave, this, what's happening between you and Puck…" He shook his head. "I can't quite wrap my head around it, but it seems to be… a _big deal._ For Puck."

"It's a big deal for me, too," he said. Dave's legs were antsy and had to move; he paced in the small space between the stairway and the half bath. "A really big deal, you know?"

"I know. And he said you, and he – you were coming out. The two of you at school." He paused, looking for confirmation, and when Dave nodded silently, he frowned. "So… _what_ exactly is your problem with me?"

Dave felt like he and Kurt were two of the blind men, looking at the same elephant and seeing a rope and a tree trunk. "Kurt," he said, and had to stop and think it through. He tried again. "Kurt, my problem wasn't with _you;_ it was with _me._ You just crystallized what had been trying to precipitate out for years."

"Which was what, exactly?" Kurt was concentrating on him very hard, and again he had this sense of being examined, inspected through a powerful compound lens. Dave waved an ineffective hand between himself and the fierce, penetrating gaze of Kurt Hummel.

"Can you – not _look _at me like that?"

Kurt blinked, then took a step back. "I don't… sorry."

Dave took a hopeless breath and closed his eyes. "It's my weight, okay?" he said. "I've always been the fat kid. That's just the way it was, since fifth grade. I knew I was never going to be skinny, but when I realized that I was gay, it just got worse. I guess I was depressed or something."

"David," Kurt whispered.

"So after what you said to me, I just – what?"

"You said you're gay." Kurt's smile was disbelieving. "You said it. Just now."

"Huh." Dave blinked. "I did." He grinned at Kurt. "Cool."

"It took Puck to convince you?" He made a sour face. "I guess I'll take that. So, after what I said – what did I say?"

Dave stared at him. "You don't remember?"

"I say a lot of things," Kurt pointed out. "When was this particular thing?"

"In the locker room," Dave said, swallowing the lump in his throat. "When you – when I kissed you. Tried to kiss you. I can't believe you don't…" Finally he shook his head. "You know, it doesn't matter."

"Whatever it was, it really affected you," said Kurt. He actually looked ashamed, and Dave didn't like that at all, but he knew better than to try to interrupt. "I'm sorry I ever said anything to make you feel bad about your body. I imagine I was just trying to fight back, however I could. I don't _really_ think…"

"I got it," Dave said. He could feel his shoulders, his neck, hell, all his joints moving more easily now, as though he were a car and his entire chassis had just been lubricated. Maybe he'd need to weigh himself again. Suddenly he felt a lot lighter. "Thanks, Kurt."

They heard a faint knocking on the wall. Kurt glanced at it, then over at Dave with a raised eyebrow. "Finn fancies himself a subtle communicator," he said dryly. "He's reached the end of his limited patience. Plus the pizza's getting cold."

Dave followed him into the kitchen, that new sense of lightness and well-being following too, and when he saw Puck standing there next to Finn, he just couldn't help it, he _smiled_ at him, without one shred of self-consciousness or fear. And Puck, a little startled, turned beet red and _smiled_ back.

"Uh, hey, Dave," Finn said, watching them.

"Hey," he replied, not looking away from Puck.

"Puck tells me, uh… that you guys, that you…" He hesitated, then thrust a paper plate at him. "That you like mushrooms and pineapple on your pizza. Dude. What the hell?"

Now he did look at Finn, modulating the smile that was just for Puck into a grin. "I know, right? Well… there's no accounting for taste. I guess sometimes we just like what we like."

Finn's relief was palpable. He nodded and laughed, and gave Dave an awkward little punch on the arm. "Right. Yeah."

Puck glanced at Kurt, then back to Dave. "You guys all set?"

"Yes," said Kurt. "I think so."

"We're cool," Dave said, taking a bite of the cold pizza.

"So Finn said something about camping over Fourth of July," Puck said.

"Yeah, I was thinking we'd go down to Grand Lake, pitch a tent," said Finn, with his usual enthusiasm. "We could have, like, a campfire and make s'mores, watch the fireworks. You want to go, too, Dave?"

Dave saw the anticipation on Puck's face, and thought of what it might be light to spend all night in a tent with him… and Finn and Kurt. "I'd have to ask my dad," he said. "We usually do something together. But I bet I could convince him."

"Yeah," said Kurt, looking meaningfully at Finn. "I think we could find an _extra tent._ Because I'm sure there wouldn't be _enough room_ for all four of us in one. _Right?"_

"Oh… right." Dave could almost see the cogs in Finn's head, turning and whirring and clicking sluggishly into place. Finn wrinkled his brow at him, and he realized with a wave of embarrassment that Finn had spotted him buying condoms at the drugstore, and now he knew _exactly_ what they were for. "Right. That's fine."

"I've got a tent," Dave offered, his face pink.

Puck smirked. "Great, Dave. You know, I _bet_ you were a Boy Scout."

Dave didn't think it would behoove him to talk about the laborious process of becoming an Eagle Scout, but at this moment he was kind of glad he'd completed it during junior year. "They'd've kicked me out if they had known about you," he said.

"I'm good at getting people kicked out of stuff," Puck said. He didn't sound bothered by this, but Dave thought about this morning's argument, and wondered how far the smirk went at covering up anxiety. He was starting to recognize when Puck's customary good mood really meant something else. If they'd been alone, he would have walked over to him, maybe hugged him, but with Kurt and Finn there, he figured that wouldn't fly, so he just stayed where he was and watched him.

"How's your summer going, Dave?" Finn said, taking another piece of pizza.

"Holy shit, Finn," Puck said, rolling his eyes. "What are you, my dad? You might as well grill him about what college he's going to or how late he's going to bring me home."

"What?" Finn protested. "I'm just trying to be nice."

Puck put a hand on each of Finn's and Dave's shoulders and steered them through the door to the family room. "Come on. Cut the fucking small talk. This is _me. _Let's play some video games."

Kurt sat on the easy chair and made surprisingly witty and amusing comments while the three of them played the new Metroid, trading off the two wireless controllers. Dave wasn't very good at video games – his dad thought they were a waste of time, so he'd never let Dave have a console at home – but he played at Z's house whenever they hung out there, so he could play well enough to get by socially. Finn was surprisingly good.

"Jeez, Puck," Finn said, the third time Puck crashed and burned. "Since when am I better at this game than you?"

"Fuck you," Puck said with good humor. "Excuse me for being a little distracted."

Puck didn't move any closer to Dave on the couch; there was still a good three-inch distance between their legs, stretched out parallel to one another. But, suddenly, Dave could feel the electricity between them, an energy field, crackling with tension. Puck's glance landed on him like a splash of cold water, and Dave chuckled nervously.

"There's another open mic on Thursday," said Puck, passing the controller to Dave. "You want to come?"

"Sure," said Dave, at the same time Finn said, "Yeah, man." They looked at each other, and Kurt laughed.

"Cool," said Puck, with satisfaction, and he put a hand on Dave's knee. It ratcheted up the tension between them several notches. He was surprised nobody else commented, and he was grateful his shorts were fitting rather loosely these days.

"Now you're just trying to sabotage me," Dave commented, barely managing to complete the level. He shot Puck a look that could have been reproachful, but probably looked fucking stupid.

"I'm not above sneak tactics," Puck acknowledged. The hand squeezed, tickling a little, and Dave protested weakly, fending off his touch with a dodge and a laugh.

There was the click of a camera shutter. Dave glanced up to see Kurt pointing his phone at him.

"What are you doing?" he said, with a little more panic in his voice than he'd realized he was feeling.

"Relax, David," said Kurt. "It's not going on Facebook or anything. I just thought you'd like a picture of the two of you."

"Yeah, take another one," said Puck, and he grabbed Dave around the shoulders, leaning in, mugging for the camera. Before Dave could do anything, Puck planted a kiss on his cheek. It was a harmless kiss, even comical, but Dave froze for a moment and watched Kurt's eyes widen a fraction. Then he grinned.

"Cute," Kurt said. "Definitely cute." He turned the camera around to them and passed it over to Dave. There they were, side by side, Dave's hands on the controller, leaning a little askew with the effort of avoiding Puck's touch. And Puck's _look_ – it made Dave feel a little faint.

"Look at the next one," Puck said, leaning over, touching the screen. "Ha! This one. I'm emailing a copy to myself."

Puck's lips on his cheek, Dave's whisper of a smile – he shot a glare at Kurt, but Kurt just said mildly, "Take what you want, I'll delete them otherwise."

"Send me a copy, too," he found himself saying. Puck had to ask him his email address. _So many things we don't know about each other,_ he thought, as Puck slowly tapped in the letters and numbers and pressed send. _He's never sent me an email before. And all those years I worked on my Eagle Scout rank, and Puck didn't even know I was a Boy Scout. So many things. _But, then, it would be a hell of a long time before he would feel like he knew _everything._ He wondered if they'd be together that long.

Dave looked at Puck, there on Finn's couch next to him, holding Kurt's phone and grinning, and he experienced a shiver at the twisting unreality of the situation. "Thanks," he said.

"Yeah, man," said Puck. "It's our summer, you know? We've got to remember this."

_There's no way I would forget it,_ he wanted to say, but he would've had to laugh at himself for being so sappy. Instead he offered the controller to Kurt.

"You want a turn?" he said.

"I don't play video games," Kurt said.

_"I_ don't have a boyfriend," countered Dave. Kurt's expression was comical, like Dave had handed him a slug. But he took the controller and sighed.

"All right, David," he said. "I got it. New experiences. What do I do?"

* * *

><p>They walked out to Dave's car together. "Mrs. Hudson is really nice," Dave said.<p>

"She's pretty cool," Puck agreed. "I think she was kind of a party girl when she was younger, which is hilarious when you look at how much of a good boy Finn is." He took Dave's hand and tugged him close. In the dark outside Finn's house, Dave didn't seem to mind, and he sighed as Puck's arms came around him.

"That was… a lot easier than I expected it would be."

"Finn takes me at face value," Puck said. "He'd probably just nod his head if I told him I was really an alien from Iota Geminorum IV."

Dave laughed. "Uh, that would be really surprising, considering it would make you a tribble."

"See, it's just so fucking cool that you know that," Puck said, and then he kissed him, long and hard. The warm night felt good on his skin after the air conditioning of Finn's family room, and he relaxed into Dave's body, giving him a little nudge with his hips. Dave responded with a soft noise that was far too hot for what it was.

"I can tell I'm in love with you," Puck said. "Every little stupid thing about you makes me happy."

Dave laughed again, this time in surprise. "I know what you mean. I find myself wondering how the hell I never noticed how awesome you are before now."

"You're just saying that so you can get into my pants," Puck grinned.

"No, man. I mean – _yeah,_ but that's not why."

Puck let his hands wander down to the hem of Dave's shirt and tucked them under, stroking the skin of his back. It did funny things to Dave's breathing, just as he'd hoped it would. "So Finn said I could spend the night at his house tonight," he said.

"Uh… okay." Dave's hazel eyes were confused for a moment, but he was as smart as Puck gave him credit for, and he gave him a hopeful smile. "Yeah?"

"We can't use that one all the time," he said. "But my mom comes home pretty exhausted from work most nights, and she doesn't notice much after she has a drink or two. I get away with a hell of a lot. Sarah can cover for us sometimes, too."

Dave nodded. "I was kind of hoping. I… I liked waking up with you."

Puck's hands wandered lower over Dave's shorts. "The middle-of-the-night thing was okay?"

"Yeah," Dave said, bumping their hips together again. Puck could feel how turned on he was. It gave him ideas about just what kind of things they might do once they got back to the Lapeer's. "It was pretty awesome, actually. Imagine, now, we can do that without… anything. Just us."

_Oh._ Puck closed his eyes and remembered. "God," he muttered. "I don't know if I can wait until we get back to the house. I might just want to fuck you right here against your car."

"That would be harder to explain to Finn," Dave said. "Come on. Get in."

It was halfway back to the Lapeer's that Dave said, "They're coming back on the third of July. The Lapeers. I'm going to need another pool."

"You can use the Underwood's," Puck said. "It's better for laps, anyway. They're gone until the middle of July."

"I don't think we can justify staying at their house, though," Dave pointed out. He sounded depressed about the idea. "I don't know what we're going to do, then."

"I'll think of something," Puck said, with confidence. "Trust me. I'm the master of sneaky. There's no way we're going to waste this summer together." He let his hand wander up Dave's thigh and into the leg of his too-big shorts. Dave caught his breath as Puck found the crease between his balls and his cock and stroked it with one finger.

"You're going to make me drive off the road," he warned.

"So pull over," Puck said, his voice thick and wanting. "Or at least move your arm and focus on what you're doing. I'm a little busy here."

Dave came to an idle along the curb of the residential street, shrouded in the darkness between two streetlights, and pulled the parking break before putting the gear shift in neutral, just as Puck leaned over, unzipping his fly. "I can't believe you're doing this," Dave gasped, feeling the warmth of Puck's mouth against his shorts.

"I can't believe it took me this long," Puck said. "You're just so fucking _hot,_ Dave."

He reveled in the feeling of Dave arching up against him as Puck swallowed him down, Dave's legs trapped by the steering wheel, shifting frantically to open far enough to allow Puck access. Puck's fingers crept back into his shorts and brushed against his ass, but Dave made a complaining noise at the dry pressure. "You don't have any lube in here, do you?" said Puck.

"Uh," Dave said, then, with bitter disappointment, "No."

"Okay," he said, "we can just go back to the –"

"_No,_" said Dave, and his hand was on Puck's neck, pulling him back down. "I want this."

"Oh, yeah?" Puck gave his own cock a little pressure, feeling a blast of stimulation at the heat and need in Dave's voice. "Tell me what you want, baby."

"I want you to suck my cock," Dave whispered.

Puck hovered just above Dave's lap, waiting, smiling, hearing his breathing coming hard, knowing he wanted it. _Nothing hotter than that,_ he thought. "Say it louder. Nobody can hear us. Come on. Tell me."

"_Suck my cock,"_ Dave said again, and his voice was low and growly and _fuck,_ that _was _hotter. That was a _lot_ hotter. Puck heard himself whining in response as he descended on Dave's cock with enthusiasm. He let Dave thrust up and fuck his mouth, and _that_ was pretty damn hot, too. There wasn't much about Dave he didn't find hot, to be honest, but this whole thing about wanting him _now,_ Puck liked that way more than he'd expected. He rubbed up against the edge of the passenger seat as he strained across the seat and sucked him, just that little pressure enough to bring Puck close to coming.

"I want you every way I can get you," Dave said, ragged and demanding, moving faster now. "I want – god, I can't wait to fuck you again – feel you fucking me – every day, giving it to me – come on, give it to me, your mouth is so good –"

Dave's voice, telling him what he wanted – holy shit, _that_ was the hottest thing ever, and Puck fumbled with his fly only seconds before he gave up and just _jammed_ his hand down his own shorts and stroked himself through his briefs, coming hard. He choked on Dave's volley of come, shooting into his mouth, and tried to swallow as best as he could. Dave's hands on his neck kept him there until his thrusts subsided. He collapsed back against the driver's seat, his breath making harsh sounds in his throat.

"Shit," he said, sounding horrified. "I'm sorry."

"What – what? No!" Puck raised his head from Dave's lap, wiping his mouth with one hand. "No way, man. That was fucking amazing. You can't apologize for that."

"I – I kind of grabbed you, forced you – " Dave was appalled, there in the dark, but Puck turned on the overhead light so Dave could see his expression.

"No," he said again. "You didn't. I was totally into it. You can't _make_ me do something I don't want to do."

"I think I could," Dave said, in clear distress. "I think I _could_. I did with Kurt."

"I'm not Kurt," Puck insisted. "I'm strong and wily and there's no fucking way you could force me. I'd kick your ass if you tried." He hooked Dave's face with one hand and made him look at him. "You were really hot. Dude, I can't remember the last time I came in my _pants,_ like a fucking _kid._ See what you make me do?"

Dave glanced down, startled into a laugh. "I did that?"

"It sure as fuck wasn't the sexy décor of your Subaru," Puck drawled, and Dave laughed again, high and nervous, the kind of laughter that was one tiny nudge away from crying. Puck knew that kind. He moved as close to Dave as he could get across the bucket seats, and wound his arms around him, holding his head, feeling Dave hold back.

"Shit," he said, his voice broken. "Puck… Noah. I'm so fucking in love with you."

"I know, baby," he whispered. "Me, too. It's okay. All of it."

Dave leaned back and pressed a palm to his eyes, smearing the tears across his cheeks and blinking. "It's a little scary, how much I want this."

Puck regarded him steadily. "You think I'm going to disappear. Still." When Dave shrugged, he sighed and leaned back in his own seat. "I thought that was _my_ line. What can I do to convince you, man?"

"Just – what you're doing," Dave said. He fumbled in the dark for Puck's hand, and gripped it tight. "You're good with me. You can talk me down from my freak-outs." He shook his head slowly. "I just hope you won't get sick of this."

"_No," _Puck said. "No. Not getting sick of it. Pretty much not getting _enough_ of it, is the truth. But I'm all about what's happening now, not worrying about what's coming next. And what's happening now is blowing my mind." His fingers made patterns in Dave's short hair, loving the feeling of it against his palm. "You okay now?"

"Yeah." He kept Puck's hand, and managed to shift the car into first, then second, as they drove slowly down the street toward the Lapeer's.

Puck took their intertwined fingers and tapped them on the gear shift. "You've got to teach me how to drive this thing."

"No problem," Dave said. "It's a good skill to have, driving a stick shift. And – well. Yeah. You should be able to drive my car." He paused.

"What?" Puck said, when the hesitation went on too long.

"I don't know. It's dumb."

"_What,"_ he said again, a little impatiently.

Dave huffed nervously, flipping on his turn signal and looking across the road carefully, even though no one was there. "Just… thinking. About us, and this summer, and after. Senior year. After that. Someday." He made a gesture. "You know."

"Okay," Puck said.

"Well, someday, maybe… it could be _our_ car. So you'd better learn how to drive it."

Puck found himself blinking suddenly, and clenched his mouth together to keep his lip from trembling. "Dave."

Dave pressed on, determinedly not listening. "Just, whatever, you know. Thinking. Because it's a good car, and it'll, you know. Last."

"Sure," said Puck, when he could speak again. "I'm sure it will. I'm _sure_ it will."

He followed Dave up the dim stairs to the guest room with the flowered sheets, silently stripping off his clothes, and climbed into bed next to Dave, leaning into his warmth. He didn't even bother with a shower, just folded himself into Dave's arm, like he was a blanket, like he was something he could count on. Like this wasn't ever going to go away.


	9. Chapter 9

_(Author's note: Thanks again for all the great comments. I'm glad you don't think I'm completely out of my gourd with this romantic characterization. I think both Puck and Dave run pretty deep, and it's nice to see them complementing each other so well. More to come. Enjoy! -amy)_

* * *

><p>Dave caught Puck humming to himself in the morning. "You're fucking cheerful," he said, pulling on a clean t-shirt.<p>

"I'm psyched for the camping trip this weekend," Puck said. He picked up one of Dave's t-shirts, one of the new ones he'd just bought. It was a large, not an extra-large, and Dave was kind of proud of this fact. He thought they looked okay on him, and he didn't even mind the way they hugged his arms. "Nice. Can I wear this?"

"Uh… it'd be a little big on you." He watched anxiously as Puck slipped it over his head. It actually wasn't _too_ big.

"I just like the idea of wearing your clothes," Puck said, grinning, smoothing the shirt over his chest. "Fucking awesome. Not as awesome as being inside you, though."

"Yeah," Dave said, thinking of that morning. The idea of never having to buy another condom was definitely an appealing one, and he had an affirmative answer to the question of _can you actually feel it when somebody comes inside you?_ He kissed Puck, appreciating the crisp cotton under his hands. "I'll be at my dad's this morning, waiting for the sprinkler guys, so I won't see you for lunch, probably."

"That's cool," Puck said, shrugging. "I don't have an appointment this afternoon until 3, but I'm going to try to drum up some more business. Tuesdays are a slow day – if I can get another regular Tuesday customer or two, that'd pay for all kinds of shit."

"A new guitar?" Dave guessed, but Puck shook his head.

"It's just for college, man. Everything that isn't paying for gas and insurance on my truck goes in the bank. Gold mine, remember?"

"What do you mean?" Dave sat on the edge of the bed, watching Puck tying his shoes. Puck smiled up at him, leaning on his knee.

"I didn't tell you about this? Miss Pillsbury helped me set up this educational fund at the beginning of last year, when I realized I'd wasted practically all my profits from the summer before on stupid shit. And I started going to class, trying to get my grades back into reasonable shape. She said I need at least a 2.0 to even consider applying anywhere besides community college, and higher than that if I want to go anywhere good. And my SAT scores are pretty crappy, so I have to make sure my grades are at least okay."

"What would you study?"

"That, I have no idea. I just want to get _out_ of here, you know? This fucking town, it's stifling." Puck shuddered. "Anyway. I've got a good chunk of change, but this summer, I'm still trying to build new business. I need some more time on marketing."

Dave considered, fastening his shorts. "I could give you a hand," he offered. "If I came with you on your rounds, or maybe I could do some of the houses while you –"

"No thanks," Puck said, and his voice was a little stiff. "I got it. It's my business, not yours."

He slowed his motions, watching Puck. "I know, I just thought the quicker you got things done, the more time we'd have together."

"Well, don't worry about it. This is my thing. I'd rather take care of it myself."

"All right," Dave agreed. "No big." He could feel the tension between them, sandpaper-rough and uncomfortable, and he held out a hand, pulling Puck over to the bed. "It's all right," he said again. "I don't care."

Puck sighed in frustration. "I've had enough fucking people telling me I'm no good at stuff. I don't need _you _telling me how I should be doing things better."

"No!" Dave protested. "It's not like that. Dude… I've seen you do your job. You know exactly what you're doing. I just figured, an extra pair of hands…" He tried a grin. "I can take direction, you know."

Despite himself, Puck grinned back. "Heh. Well…" He eyed Dave, then shook his head. "It'd go faster, but it'd never be twice as fast. Neither of us would make much money."

"I wouldn't be in it for the money." Dave's hands played over Puck's cutoffs, tugging at the frayed edges. There was a small hole laying against the crease of his ass that was very distracting. He stuck a finger inside and stroked the skin, making Puck's eyes glaze over. "You could take my wages out in sexual favors," he suggested.

Puck laughed uneasily. "Dave."

"Hey, don't even pay me – I could just be your sex slave," he added. Dave ran a hand along the seam of the cutoffs, from ass to crotch and back again, and gazed up Puck's chest – until he saw his uncomfortable face, at which point he let Puck go. "Sorry. It was a joke. What?"

"I just don't joke about work." Puck turned away, running his hands over his arms. He wasn't smiling now. Dave could have kicked himself for putting that look on Puck's face, and he scrambled to regain the easy footing.

"Well – if you have time after lunch today, I could show you how to drive the stick shift. Let me buy you ice cream? We can head up to Bluffton to Dietsch Brothers."

Puck glanced at him. "You mean, like, a date?"

"Sure. Yeah. A date." He put his hand on Puck's arm, willing him to feel the apology by osmosis through his skin. "I'll be at my house all morning to meet the sprinkler guys. You want me to come by your house and pick you up?"

"No, I'll be out – I'll come to you."

Dave still felt the distance between them, but he let it stretch. _At some point there has to be a fight we can't resolve right away. I've got to trust in something. Whatever this is, it's worth that._ "You know where my house is?"

"Sure, man," Puck gave him a little smile. "See you after lunch."

Dave tucked the smile into the pocket of his large-not-extra-large t-shirt and watched Puck walk out the door. "Bye," he said.

He felt the tension on his skin, making his arms tingle, all the way over to his house. His dad was sitting in the same spot as always. "Morning," he said, smiling.

This morning his dad was having granola and half a banana, cut in slices, over with milk. Dave would have had yogurt, but his dad didn't care for it. That was about as vehement as his dad ever got, about politics or anything: _I don't care for it. _Sometimes it was hard to know if his dad had ever felt anything strongly.

Dave put half a bagel in the toaster and retrieved his cup of coffee, cream and sugar. He leaned against the counter in the kitchen, watching his dad read the paper. He wondered, vaguely, what would happen if he said he'd fallen so hard in love with someone that he'd cried in his arms last night. The thought took his breath away for a moment, and he had to set his coffee down until he got it back.

"Dad," he said.

"Yeah?" said his dad absently.

_Debate team, Dave. Second prize on the regional civics essay contest. Quiz bowl. Prom king. You can do speeches. Just fucking tell him._

He closed his eyes. "Some friends have invited me to go camping for Fourth of July."

"Anybody I know?"

"Um, Finn Hudson and Noah Puckerman. They're both on the football team. And Kurt."

That caught his attention. His dad's head snapped up, startled. "Kurt? Kurt Hummel, _that_ Kurt?"

"He's Finn's stepbrother."

"David, are you telling me Kurt is okay with you going camping with them?"

"Yeah, Dad. We had pizza together last night. He's cool. We totally made peace."

His dad nodded slowly, squinting at Dave. "Okay," he said finally. "Really. I'll call Kurt's dad and make sure he has our emergency number. When are you guys heading out?"

That was how his dad did it. There would be no arguing about him calling, but he'd stay out of Dave's way and trust him to handle it unless there was a problem. And, since last year, there hadn't been any. "I'm not sure, but I'll let you know."

"Make sure your cell phone is charged up before you leave. You guys want to take the REI tent?"

Dave imagined there would be plenty of room for two and a cooler in the tent. Then he thought of the distance between the two of them this morning. _Maybe it would be better for him to have his own tent. _

"You okay, Dave?" his dad said, and Dave realized his anxiety had escaped his head and trickled out his mouth in the form of a sigh.

"Yeah," he said, trying not to sound falsely cheerful. His dad would see through that in a second. "I'm okay."

He watched Dave _not talking_ to him for a few seconds, then let it go. _That was the second time,_ Dave thought. _He's not going to let it go next time. I'm going to have to say something._ But not today. Not with the tingle of disconnection between himself and Puck. He'd need all the confidence he could get to jump that hurdle.

"I'll stick around until the sprinkler guys are gone," Dave said, spreading lowfat cream cheese on his bagel. "You can take off. I know you have a meeting."

"Thanks, sport." His dad's hand was warm and vague on his shoulder. "Nice shirt. You're losing weight."

"Yeah," he said. _My boyfriend likes me the way I am. He thinks I'm hot. He hasn't said one word about the seven – no, eight this morning - pounds I've lost._

The house was quiet after his dad left, and Dave sat on the couch, thinking, for several minutes before booting up the computer. He ordered a few things from Amazon, and was in the middle of Googling customer opinion about which acoustic guitars were the best when he heard a firm knock on the door.

It was not the sprinkler guys.

"So I don't know what happened this morning," Puck said, pushing open the screen door and making an intense beeline for Dave, his hands touching his chest and shoulders and back and head and pulling him close. "But I couldn't stop thinking about it, and I decided it really, really _sucked._"

"Y-yeah," Dave stuttered. The tingle in his arms was gone, along with the anxiety, replaced with rolling desire and cascades of relief. "It really did. I just figured we'd take care of it later."

"You've got more patience than me, man," he said, fingers stroking warm paths across Dave's skin through his t-shirt. Dave could hear his erratic breathing, feel the heat and pressure of Puck's erection through his shorts. "This summer is going to be fucking short enough. I want to take care of it _right now."_

"I have – the sprinkler guys could be here any minute," Dave said. He could feel his own response against Puck's mouth, suddenly pressed to Dave's neck, and _god,_ he had no _idea_ that spot behind his ear was an erogenous zone.

"Quick, then," Puck said, and the hand that came down to cup Dave's cock was insistent and clearly knew what it was doing. He made a brief, surprised gasp.

"Where?" he said.

"You tell me, man." Puck pulled Dave's head down for a kiss, and somehow Puck had his shorts half-off. "It's your house."

_But I've never had sex here,_ he thought, rather incredulous that he was even doing this much in the middle of his pristine living room, with so many windows facing the road. "Upstairs, end of the hall on the left," he said. "My room."

"Awesome," Puck said fervently, steering Dave toward the stairs. Dave barely had his door closed before Puck was on him, tucking a bottle of lube into his hand, grabbing the other hand and slipping it into his shorts.

"I know we can't say no more fighting," he added, tearing Dave's new shirt off and tossing it on the desk, joined quickly by the one he'd borrowed from Dave. "I just couldn't stand you thinking I was mad at you. I wasn't. I _want_ you to come work with me; it's just not gonna make enough money to pay us both. And until that happens, the only one who gets to work for free is my sister Sarah, and that's only because she won't take a dime from me until I make it into college."

Dave let his mouth get comfortable with Puck's for a few minutes, relaxing them both and giving him time to think. They were naked and Dave was two fingers into Puck before they spoke again.

"I don't want you to think I don't trust you," he said, and Dave almost had to stop what he was doing and breathe, because _fuck,_ he was hot like this on all fours, his ass canted up, waiting for Dave to _just do him already._ "I really do, man. I respect you. I respect what you do, a lot."

"I know," Puck said, with that same sincerity, and Dave knew he heard him. "It's okay. Come on. God, I want you."

The doorbell rang downstairs, and Puck groaned a protest, collapsing on the bed. "I have to –" Dave said, scrambling for his shorts.

"Go, just go," Puck waved, his voice aggravated. "Fuck."

The sprinkler guys wanted him to show them the problem area in the back near the terrace, and then they wanted to lead him on a tour of the perimeter, but Dave was able to convince them to wait and do that with his dad in two weeks.

"You guys don't work with a pool cleaning business, do you?" he said, taking their card. "I have a friend who's looking for more clients."

"Is that Puckerman?" said the guy. "He gets around, doesn't he?"

Dave turned pink, _not_ thinking of Noah spread-eagled on his bed upstairs. "He's very good," he said. "I'd recommend him to anyone."

Their truck was still idling in the driveway when Dave closed (and locked, _just in case)_ his bedroom door, observing with avid hunger an attentive Puck, lying on his back now, in the middle of Dave's bed, his hand on his own cock, lazily stroking it.

"You still hard?" Puck said, and Dave felt an unbelievable thrill at the tone of his voice, like there was nothing he wanted more than to hear Dave say _yes._

"Mostly," Dave said, dropping his shorts. "I'm sure you can help me recover."

"Good." Puck slid down on the bed, arms under his knees, stretching his legs apart and open, and Dave's heart stopped for about three seconds while he climbed on top of him, reaching for the lube.

Puck stopped his hand, shaking his head. "I'm ready, baby," he said softly. "Just fuck me."

Dave realized later that he didn't even question him, he just trusted it was true, because it could have been _very_ uncomfortable, probably painful, even, to Puck if he hadn't been. But as Dave pressed into Puck's slick hole, he could feel how he'd prepared himself, lubed himself up and stretched himself out - and the thought was hot enough to drive Dave several giant leaps ahead, almost close to finishing. _Jesus Christ,_ he thought, reeling at the unbelievable sensation of skin against skin.

"I never thought – _god_ – never realized it could be –" He paused, shaking his head, feeling himself trembling. There was nothing he could brace himself against, here, in the middle of his bed, and he reached out a hand.

"Come down here," Puck said, sounding amused, pulling Dave against him. "You're so dramatic. I want to feel you." He put his strong hands on Dave's ass, which was still far too big for Dave's liking, but _Puck_ seemed to like it just fine – more than fine. His touch on Dave's big ass, as a matter of fact, was drawing forth little growls and grunts that made Dave feel strange. Eventually he realized it was the feeling of _being sexy._

"That's it," said Puck as Dave adjusted, letting his body find the right angle while keeping Dave pressed against him. "Yeah, _that's_ what I want… fuck, _Dave,_ you feel so fucking _good."_

Dave thought he could hear those words every day for the rest of his life and they'd never get old. He let himself do laps in the pool of possibility and self-esteem that Puck's words had sprung open in him. "I'm here to give it to you," he breathed in his ear, and Puck's body snapped into action, doing the thrusting for him, taking his cock again and again as he moaned _Dave, baby, yes._ Dave loved every bit of it, loved the word _baby_ in Puck's unashamed voice, the way his name sounded just right.

Eventually words became irrelevant, superfluous, and they resorted to the language of groans and grunts, which Dave thought were sexy all on their own, and he tucked a hand in between their bodies to stroke Puck's cock, finding him slick there, too. _I wonder if he'd let me watch him fuck himself, next time,_ Dave thought, and that was enough to put him over the edge, his noises driving Puck there right along with him.

There was no need for additional words after that, lying prone together on the bed, but Dave supplied a few anyway, because sometimes things _should_ be said. "Thanks for coming over," he said. "I feel a lot better."

"Hell, yeah," Puck agreed, and just like that, it was easy again. _Sex therapy,_ Dave grinned. _I could get used to this._

* * *

><p>"So this open mic on Thursday," Dave said, slicing the sandwich with one quick stroke of the bread knife. "Same place, same time?"<p>

"Yeah," Puck said. He accepted his half of the sandwich and took a bite. "We mostly play at Market Square. The music consortium makes it almost free, all the volunteer tech guys and ushers and stuff. Whatever they take in for tickets, they keep, and whatever we take in for sales, we keep."

"So why don't _you_ have a CD?" Dave wanted to know. He opened a jar of pickles and passed them to Puck, who grinned at him and raised one eyebrow, glancing suggestively from the pickle he'd chosen to Dave's face. Eventually the pickle went into his mouth, and only the fantastic sex they'd just had kept Dave from groaning aloud.

"Because studio time costs about $400 a song," Puck said, pointing the pickle at him. "That doesn't count the cost of advertising and printing. I just don't have that kind of money to spare."

Dave shook his head. "You're better than most of those guys." He nudged the brownies over to Puck, regretfully turning one down. "You should totally be selling a CD."

"Yeah, well, I should totally be doing lots of things." Puck shrugged. "The money goes to college. There's no two ways around it. One thing at a time."

"You sound like my dad," Dave said, grinning ruefully. "That's a good thing," he added. "Responsible." He took a tiny bit of brownie crumb and tasted it.

Puck snorted, taking a huge bite of sandwich. "Yeah," he said around the mouthful. "I'm reformed. Who knew?"

"Yeah, and you're gay, too. Who knew that either?"

He cracked up, wiping his mouth on his hand. "Well. Not totally gay. Whatever – bi? Pansexual? Fuck it." He pointed at Dave. "I like _you._ That's pretty much all I care about now."

Dave took another infinitesimal speck of brownie, feeling the tension coiling inside himself, but pushing through it to ask the question calmly. "Really? You don't think you're going to get bored? With, like, just me?"

Puck stared at him like he'd just asked him if he would like to eat a hedgehog. "Is that a real question? Dave." He leaned across the table, pushing the tempting brownie aside, and grabbed Dave's hand. "You're my favorite flavor."

Dave laughed, turning red. "I love chocolate," he said. "But I don't think I could eat it for every meal."

"Well, how about you let me decide when I've had enough Dave," Puck said. "I don't see it happening anytime soon. Like, ask me again in a year."

Dave stood up suddenly, sweeping the lunch ingredients off the table and back into the kitchen, ignoring the way his stomach had just knotted up. He felt Puck's hands land on his back while he was putting the pickle jar away, and he jumped, dropping it. "Fuck," he said, juggling the jar and almost dropping it. Puck's hands joined him on the jar, holding him around his waist.

"You got it?" Puck asked.

He glanced over his shoulder at Puck's steady face. "I think so," he said.

"Okay – come on. Give me that." Puck took the jar and set it in the fridge, closed the door, and beckoned Dave into his arms. "Come here."

Dave didn't get at _all_ why he was shaking, there, in the kitchen, in Puck's arms, but he was so fucking grateful that he just went there, letting him hold him.

"I know this is still pretty new," Puck said into his neck. "We can go as slow as you want. You still want to see other people?"

"_No,"_ said Dave, with a shaky laugh. "I _don't._ That's the part that's fucking freaking me _out."_

"Okay," Puck said again, sounding pleased. "What is it, then? That I'm a guy?"

"I don't – think so." Dave could feel his breathing ease, the knot relaxing, under Puck's calm hands. "I mean – this coming out thing, it's hard, but it feels good, too. I'm glad I don't have to walk back into school tomorrow and, like, _be out,_ but I think – I think I can do it. A little bit a time."

"So what are you scared of, then?"

_Is that what this is? I'm scared?_ Dave probed the sore spot inside him and called up the fears that appeared when he thought about the worst thing that could happen. "Losing you," he said. "To someone else. Or to nobody, I guess, if you get sick of me."

Puck nodded silently. He pulled back far enough so that Dave could see his face, stroking his hands over Dave's chest. "I don't know if you really noticed, this last year," he said. "But… I was different. I mean, at the beginning of the year, I was still figuring things out, about what I wanted. But I really loved Lauren. I was _all in._ She moved super slow, but I was willing to wait for her. It was months before she'd trust me enough to have sex. I think she had her own issues around that… you don't need all the details. Point is, I was ready to commit, but she wasn't. I think I knew it even before prom. I've had a few months since then to get used to the idea. It was a while coming. I don't think she was surprised, when I called her and told her about you."

"You – did?" Dave blinked. "So, you guys are…"

"Yeah." Puck looked sad, but resigned. "It's okay."

"I'm sorry," Dave said, and he actually was.

Puck nodded. "Thanks, I'll be okay. Like I said, it's been coming for a while." He raised his troubled eyes to Dave's (more green today). "But, here's the thing. I don't _want_ to date other people. I want _you._ Like, a lot. The only people I love more than you are my sister and my daughter. I don't think I've ever felt this way about anybody, really. I'm sorry if that's scary, but I'm not pulling any punches. Like I said, we can go slow, but I'm _all in." _Puck tapped his chest as he said it, like a heartbeat. "Are you?"

"Am I what?" Dave said.

"Are you _all in?_ Or are you still not sure? I just want to know, so I can, you know. Be prepared." He took a breath. "Last night… what you said about the car. That was kind of… a big deal."

"I was just imagining," Dave protested. "It was nothing."

"It wasn't," Puck insisted. "Is that what you want?"

Dave turned the stupid, idiotic idea around in his head, looking at it from all sides, trying to find one thing he didn't like about it. He couldn't. "Yeah," he whispered.

Puck nodded slowly. His shoulders came down – Dave could feel the tension flowing out of him, pooling on the floor, like water. And suddenly Puck was kissing him, holding him tight, up against the fridge, and Dave lost himself in Puck's mouth, the pressure of his tongue, the way his body felt, holding him there. He made a noise, not of protest, but of relief. _He wants me this way too. I'm not the only one._

"You're fucking incredible, you know that?" Puck said.

"I try," said Dave.

He felt a little like they were holding hands invisibly in the air when they went out to Dave's car. When he passed the keys to Puck, they traded smiles, little secret ones, and Dave felt impossibly, ridiculously happy. "I'm going to try not to destroy your car," said Puck. "Since it's got such an important destiny and all."

"Yeah, and my dad would kill me," Dave said. "You'd be out one boyfriend."

The car wouldn't start when Puck turned the key, and he frowned. "What…"

"You have to hold down the clutch," Dave pointed, putting on his seat belt. "Or the car won't start. Right foot only on the brake and gas, just like when you're driving an automatic. Left foot only on the clutch. The hard part is getting them to work together. You have to let out the clutch slowly, and give it a little gas, finding that sweet spot."

"Oh yeah?" Puck grinned, playing with the pedals. "I'm good at that, huh?"

"Don't go there, man," Dave said, hitting him on the arm. He felt his face burning as he reached for the gear shift, putting his hand on top of Puck's. "Here. First gear… second is straight down from that. Third is in the middle top, then fourth at the bottom. Fifth, in the corner. Down from that is reverse, but you don't need it right now. Try first." Dave left his hand on top of Puck's as he shifted. "Now… give it a little gas, and let out the clutch _slowly."_

Puck tried, and the car lurched forward like it was about to throw up. "Clutch," Dave shouted, as Puck frantically gave it gas. "Put the clutch back in – okay." He put a hand on Puck's shoulder. "It's fine. It does that."

"Fuck," Puck said, breathing hard. "So much for the sweet spot."

"You can't be good at everything," Dave said, laughing. "Give it time. You'll get it."

And Puck did, there on Dave's street, going around the corner and coming back over and over, turning around several times in the driveway to practice reverse. "I think I figured it out," he said excitedly. "Come on, let's try the highway."

He had a few more false starts, but they made it onto the onramp, and from then on it was pretty much like driving an automatic. "Once I get out of first, I'm fine," he said.

"You did great," Dave said. "There are a few more little things, like starting on a hill and parallel parking, but you've got it. Now it's just a matter of practicing. You can drive my car any time you want."

"You're a fucking awesome teacher, Dave," Puck said, and he was so sincere that Dave couldn't do anything but grin in thanks. He reached over and turned on the radio. "Ah, a little Steppenwolf. Perfect."

_Get your motor running  
><em>_Head out on the highway  
><em>_Looking for adventure  
><em>_In whatever comes our way_

Dave sang along, and Puck gave him a surprised look, but he was smiling. "I was starting to wonder if you could sing," he said.

"Not really," said Dave. "I can carry a tune, but that's all. Nothing special, you know?"

"Sure," said Puck, but the smile persisted. Dave let that smile give him the confidence to sing the rest nice and loud.

_Yeah, darling  
><em>_Gonna make it happen  
><em>_Take the world in a love embrace  
><em>_Fire all of your guns at once and  
><em>_Explode into space  
><em>_Born to be wild  
><em>_Born to be wild_

Dave curled into the universal air-guitar position, playing the solo, and Puck cracked up, drumming on the steering wheel. They wailed together on the chorus.

_Like a true nature child  
><em>_We were born  
><em>_Born to be wild  
><em>_We have climbed so high  
><em>_Never want to die  
><em>_Born to be wild  
><em>_Born to be wild_

Puck took the exit for Findlay and pulled in where Dave pointed. He pulled the car into a parking space, then looked around himself in confusion. "Uh – there's no Park. What do I do?"

"Just leave it in gear and put on the parking brake. Don't forget the brake. If it pops out of gear it can roll away." Dave laughed. "One time I stopped for coffee, and when I came back out my car was across the street."

"Fuck," Puck said, eyes huge. "What happened?"

"Some couple stopped and watched it for me until I got it back. Not a scratch on it, it just rolled backwards onto the curb and sat there." Dave shrugged. "Just lucky, I guess."

"You sure are," said Puck.

"Yeah," said Dave. As Puck closed the driver's side door and came around the car to head into Dietsch Brothers, Dave took his hand. Puck looked up at him in surprise, and smiled.

"You sure?" he said.

"Why the hell not," said Dave. He felt that same tension inside, but it wasn't in charge anymore. Puck's smile over lunch, and the sound of him saying Dave's name when he came, and his hand on top of his on the gear shift, and the promise of _all in – _those were a hell of a lot more important than a little fear. He could handle it. "Let me buy my boyfriend an ice cream, okay?"


	10. Chapter 10

Puck drove around town on the way back, finding places to practice parallel parking, and only tapped one parking meter with Dave's bumper. That was enough to make him paranoid, and after that he was very cautious. "I don't think you'd forgive me if I junked it on my first day out," Puck said.

"You're doing awesome," Dave promised. "That's what bumpers are _for,_ right?" He had some touch-up paint at home, and he'd take care of it before his dad ever saw.

"I have my three o'clock," said Puck. "But this was great. Thanks for the ice cream."

Dave hesitated, then forged ahead. "Maybe we should go out again. Like, in town."

Puck was silent for a minute, long enough to make Dave start to wonder if he'd asked too much. "It's my birthday next week," he finally said. "On the twelfth."

"Really," said Dave, even though he knew it was, already. "You want to go out for that? Fancy shirts, dress up, all that?"

"I guess," said Puck, with a quick look at Dave.

"We could just stay home and have pizza," Dave said. "If that's better. I'd offer to cook, but you _really_ don't want me to do that, unless boxed macaroni dinner is your idea of a good time."

Puck grinned. "Dude, I live on Kraft dinner. But… I mean, dinner would be fine. Just… I feel a little weird about you spending money on me."

"Well, then, you're in luck. It's my dad's money. Allowance, you know. You don't have to feel guilty about spending my _dad's_ money, right?" He didn't say that his dad had cut his allowance starting senior year and started expecting him to pay for half the stuff he did, now that he had a job. Dave already felt weird enough being a have in a have-not community like Lima, without expecting Puck to have any kind of sympathy for that.

"I guess," he said.

"Come on," Dave cajoled. "I want to do something special, for you. Please?"

"Fuck, man." Puck was turning red now. "Okay, okay. Jeez."

They were silent for a little while, until they passed exit 127, where the huge United States Plastic Corporation building made the bold statement CHRIST IS THE ANSWER.

"So," said Puck, indicating the building. "What the fuck is the question?"

"Are you seriously asking, or just being a smartass?" Dave said.

"I don't know. It just seems like Christians are always shoving their religion in other people's faces. I don't know why they have to be so obnoxious."

Dave couldn't deny it, but he felt a little defensive about his religion, even so many of them _were_ assholes. "You ever even been to a Christian church?"

"Weddings and funerals," he said. He changed lanes and took exit 125 to Lima. "So not really. Why, you want to take me sometime?"

"Maybe," said Dave. "You want to take me to your church?"

"Synagogue, dude," Puck snickered. "Yeah, sure. You can come any Saturday morning. I don't go all the time, but most weekends, me and my Ma and Sarah, we go to temple."

Dave watched Puck as he moved his hands and feet to shift, doing a pretty smooth job of it. He didn't want to make a comment about how good Puck was with his hands, in the middle of a serious conversation, but he couldn't help _thinking _it. "You believe in God?"

"Yeah," Puck said. "I think so. I mean, it's hard to know for sure, right? I just think religion doesn't always get it right, but sometimes it's the only thing that makes sense."

Dave wasn't sure how to respond to that, but his thought retreated inside himself as he realized his dad's car was in the driveway. "My dad's home," he said. "Did you – did we leave anything out?"

"Nothing to leave, except maybe some lunch dishes," Puck said. "I think you're safe." He glanced at Puck. "Should I go?"

"Maybe," said Dave. "He's going to wonder why your truck is here and we're not."

"Just tell him the truth, dude," Puck said easily. "You were teaching me how to drive the stick. No pun intended. I'll see you back at the Lapeer's tonight, okay? I don't know if I can stay over, but I can come for a few hours." He climbed out of the car without offering to kiss him, and Dave was both relieved and disappointed by this.

He smiled at Dave as he climbed out of the passenger seat. "Thanks for the lessons."

"Anytime," he said, watching him head for his truck. The cutoffs Puck was wearing were almost indecent, he noticed, or probably his dad would think so. He wondered if his dad would spot the fact that Puck was wearing his shirt. Probably. His dad was pretty sharp.

He thought for a few minutes about taking a walk and coming back to the house later, hoping that his dad might be gone, but he decided at the last minute that it was futile. If his dad was home in the middle of the day, there was likely a fucking good reason for that, and chances were it wasn't going to be good for Dave.

He was right on all accounts. His dad was sitting on the couch in the family room. "David," he said as Dave came into the room. "Come here a minute."

He seated himself across from him on the ottoman with a sinking heart. "What is it, Dad?"

His dad's face was stern. This was one of several common expressions, the most common of the rest being grave, reproachful, vague and blank. "I spoke with Burt Hummel this afternoon," he said.

Now Dave's heart did a nosedive into his feet. "You'd mentioned you were going to."

"I'm guessing you know what this is about." Dave's dad reached out and lay a hand on Dave's knee. It was gentle, because his dad was like that, but that didn't mean things were going to be okay.

"I'm not… exactly sure," he said cautiously.

"David," his father said. "Burt told me what happened at prom."

Dave shifted his feet, still waiting. "What did he tell you?"

"I should ask _you_ to tell me, so I can get the whole story from the source," he said, switching to reproachful. He sighed. "He said you and Kurt were supposed to dance together. That Kurt was elected Prom… Queen?"

Dave nodded silently. "I think it was meant to be a joke," he said.

"Of course it was a joke," his dad said severely. "And one in very poor taste. I'm sure Kurt was mortified."

"He was," he said. "I was, too, on his behalf. I… decided not to dance with him; his boyfriend Blaine was his partner for the first dance, instead."

"No, Dave," said his dad. Now he just looked sad. "It wasn't a joke about Kurt. It was about you."

Dave felt a chill pass over him, and his vision grayed briefly before returning. His dad still was staring at him. "What?" he said blankly.

"Burt said… and I quote," he said, clearing his throat, "'Your son's come a long way since last year, from bully to out of the closet.'"

Now Dave was pretty sure his face was white, because he felt like he might pass out. He sat in miserable silence, looking past his dad's staring expression to the wall, waiting for the next blow.

"You have something you want to tell me?" his dad asked, and his voice was stony.

"I don't know, Dad," Dave said. "Is it something you're ready to hear, or are you going to ignore it and pretend it isn't real?"

"How have I been ignoring you?" his dad demanded. "I'm here every morning, Dave. Every day of the year. You could have said something _any time._ There's nothing I want more than for you to tell me what's going on with you in your life. Don't you _know_ that?"

It sounded good, and Dave wanted to believe it, but there were so many reasons not to trust him. "You're just going to say you're disappointed."

"You bet I'm disappointed!" His dad was shouting now. "I'm disappointed you felt like you couldn't tell me. I'm disappointed you decided to lie to me rather than trust that I could handle the truth." His hand tightened on Dave's knee. "I thought we were closer than that."

Dave looked at the hand - thick, with blunt fingers, just like his own. "I don't think you _can_ deal with the truth."

His dad jerked back, as though Dave had slapped him. "Try me," he said.

"Hell, you already _know_."

"Don't you curse at me, young man," he snapped. "And I'm going to hear it from _your_ mouth, not from your boyfriend's father's."

Dave squished up his eyebrows, trying to make sense of this sentence. When he finally got it, he almost laughed. "Dad, Kurt's not my boyfriend. I'm not even interested in him."

"Then how…?" He watched his father's face go through several expressions in a row, but under it all there was just _pain,_ and Dave felt worst of all about that.

"I wasn't ready to tell you before now," he said. "I wasn't ready to tell _anybody._ Kurt – he knew, since last year, because I –" Dave swallowed. "He was the only one who knew that I'm… I'm gay."

The flinch he expected to see wasn't there, but his father's face didn't look any less hurt. "I'm sorry," he added. "Not for being this way, but for being too chicken to say anything. I figured as long as I could hide it, I didn't need to."

His dad leaned back with a sigh. "David, you never need to keep anything from me," he said.

"Dad, I just told you I'm _gay,_ and you haven't said one word about it," he protested. "Don't you get it? You only hear the parts you want to hear, and ignore the rest. If I told you I was in love with somebody, you'd just want to know about his grades and what his parents do. You wouldn't ask about _me._"

"Are you-?" His dad crossed his arms, then uncrossed them, leaning forward. "David. I do care about you. But you owe me an explanation."

"I'm trying to explain," Dave said, gritting his teeth. "I'm trying to tell you what's happening with me. Can't you just listen?"

"I'm listening," he said, with open palms, cupped to receive Dave's offering. "Tell me, son."

Dave forced himself to relax, his fingers splayed on his own thighs. "All last year," he said, "I was – I knew what I was. I knew I was gay. And I was ashamed of it. I knew the whole school would come down on me like a ton of bricks… that Z would disown me, that the hockey team would kick my butt if they knew. And you…" He looked at his father, trying to read his impassive face. "But I'm _not_ ashamed anymore."

His dad nodded. "I can see that."

Dave knew his dad would never ask, that it was up to him to tell him all of it, that it would never be easier than it was right now. "I met somebody," he said quietly. "He… made me see it was something that could be _good_, that could make me _happy._"

"Are you happy, David?" His dad looked skeptical, and Dave didn't hesitate this time.

"Yes," he said, with complete conviction. "Yes, I'm… happier than I've ever been. Ever."

"Is it somebody I know?" his dad said evenly.

Dave closed his eyes. _Not one word about _his_ feelings._ For a moment, he considered lying, or worse, not telling – openly defying his father. It wouldn't work, in the long run, but it might make him feel better for a few minutes. _You don't deserve to know him,_ he thought viciously. _He's mine._

"It – is it a student?" his dad asked, and Dave's eyes flew back open. His dad looked the same, but there was a new tension in his face. _Fear. He's afraid._

"It's Puck," he said. "Noah Puckerman."

His dad blinked. "From the football team? _He…?"_

"That's pretty much what I thought," Dave agreed. "He's not any kind of stereotype. He's just a guy."

Dave's father appeared to let this sink in. Then he leaned in again, perplexed. "So all this with Kurt…"

"It was just me, being scared," he said. It was easier to admit this, now that Puck had named it. His dad nodded slowly.

"You've been seeing him for a while," he said. "I could see it, on your face, but I wasn't sure what it was."

Dave lowered his eyes. "I know. I'm sorry. For not saying something earlier."

He nodded again. "Well, it's all out now. Right? There's nothing more?"

"No," Dave said. "Nothing else." _Except that I'm fucking him, but you don't need to hear that._

His dad rose, and Dave stood with him. Then he came over and, stiffly, hugged Dave. "This isn't going to be easy for me," he said. "But I hope you believe me when I say I'm happy you're happy."

"Thanks, Dad." In his own way, he knew it was true. As much as his dad knew how to be happy. "I knew you weren't going to disown me or anything."

"You're my son," he said, shaking his head. "I'm your father. The world could end and that would still be true. You can count on it."

As soon as he got up to his room, Dave called Puck. "You all right?" Puck asked.

"I told him," he said. "You, everything."

"Holy shit," Puck breathed. "Okay. Wow. Uh, how'd it go?"

"It's okay." He felt numb and a little tingly, as though he'd been to the dentist, and his body was just starting to wake up from the anesthesia. "It wasn't awful. He was mostly mad I didn't tell him before."

"Is he still going to let you go camping with us?"

Dave paused. "He didn't say anything about that. He didn't ask any questions about you, or anything, at all. I think I might have scared him off a little."

"Well, if you can't go, it's all right. We can do something else here."

"Dude," blurted Dave. "You don't have to stay home just because I do."

"Yes, I do," Puck replied patiently. "That's what boyfriends _do."_

Dave suddenly wasn't thinking anything about his dad, or about how fucking scary that just was, or _anything _other than _God, I love you._ He was kind of glad nobody was around to see the stupid smile on his face, but he knew exactly what it looked like. It was the same smile he'd had in that picture Kurt had taken of them.

"You still there, man?" Puck asked.

"Yeah," said Dave. "I'm right here."

* * *

><p>As it turned out, Dave's dad didn't say one word about him going camping with Finn and Puck and Kurt until he was digging the tent out of the basement. He tugged on the string to the bare hanging bulb next to the boxes Dave was looking through, to give him more light, and pointed and said casually, "I think it's in that one."<p>

He was right. Dave's dad was nothing if not organized. The box also had their old camp stove, some pots and flatware, and a spare tarp. "Do I need this too?" Dave asked his dad, holding up the tarp, though he knew the answer.

"Nah," he said. "The tent comes with its own tarp, sized just right to fit underneath. The weather should be good enough you won't need more than the rain fly over the top." He paused. "David…'

_Here it comes._ Dave set the tent under his arm, ready to protest, ready to explain _why_ it was okay for him to go spend a night in the woods with his boyfriend.

"I want you to know I trust you," he said.

Dave waited. "Okay."

"You've got a good head on your shoulders. All that business with bullying kids, I knew there had to be something going on to keep you from yourself, because that's not who you _are,_ David. You're destined for something great. I know it."

Dave just listened, wondering what kind of great his dad wanted him to be, and why what he was already wasn't good enough, but he didn't say anything.

"So… this Puckerman. The two of you, you won't draw too much notice. You're both regular guys, and I don't think anybody could tell, looking at you."

Now Dave's attention on his dad had narrowed to a focused stare. "We don't look gay, is that it?"

"David, I'm just thinking of your _safety._" He tugged on the string attached to the bulb again, and the light went off. They stood there in the dim light from the other room. "You've got your whole life to consider here. You have to be sensible."

"I have to stay in the closet, is what you're saying."

Dave's dad looked uncomfortable now. "Consider the big picture," he tried, but Dave stopped him.

"Dad, the big picture is _this_ is _me._ I'm not going to stop being this way tomorrow, or next week, or next year. I'm never going to change." He opened his arms, and his dad looked away. "You're right – I'm not going to go prancing around in a dress, or start liking Judy Garland. I'm still me."

"I wouldn't expect anything less of you, David." He shot Dave a pleading look. "I also don't want you to end up on the end of a bunch of bullies, yourself."

Dave didn't say _I'm scared of that too._ Instead he glanced down at himself, then at his dad, and let his lips form a grin. "Dad. Seriously? Who's going to mess with me? Who'd get their ass kicked?"

"Language," his dad said, but he was grinning back. They trudged back up the stairs, Dave snapping off the lights on the way.

Dave knew his dad liked that Dave had turned out big and strong and _manly_ looking. It wasn't the most important thing, but it was _something,_ something his dad could point to and say _That's my son._ He wondered what would happen if his dad caught him doing something that he considered to be less than manly. He wondered because he didn't think he ever had done anything like that. He wondered if Straight Dave, the success, was going to someday have a confrontation with Gay Dave, the rebel. _Maybe there are parts of me that are changing, after all,_ he thought.

* * *

><p>Kurt was in the driver's seat of the Navigator when it pulled up in Dave's driveway. The windows were tinted in the back, but Dave could see Puck in the back seat. He threw his gear in the back while his dad walked around to the driver's side and knocked on Kurt's window. He rolled it down and said politely, "Hello, Mr. Karofsky."<p>

"You four heading down to Grand Lake?" he asked, and Kurt nodded. "You keep your eyes open on the road. There's a lot of crazies out there on Fourth of July."

"We'll be safe, sir," said Finn. Dave opened the door behind Kurt and got in.

Through the driver's door, Dave's dad's eyes were on Puck, who gazed back at him steadily. "You must be Noah Puckerman," he said.

"That's me," Puck said. "Puck."

"Ah," said his dad. "Puck. Well." He looked like he might want to say something else, but he just turned to Dave, through the rear passenger door, and gripped his shoulder briefly. "Be safe," he said, then let go and waved at them.

Puck held his snickers until they were out of the driveway. _"Be safe?"_ He shook his head. "Dude. He might as well just have handed you a box of condoms."

"What? No," Dave protested, turning red, but Finn was cracking up, and he thought Kurt might be sitting on a smile. "That's not what he meant. He was talking about – he wants me to be careful, about how I act."

"Doesn't want you to be too gay?" Kurt suggested.

"Something like that." He hit the back of Kurt's seat. "And, dude, _your dad_ totally blew it for me."

"What?" Kurt said, looking alarmed. "What did he do?"

"My dad called him, about this trip, and he said something about me. I thought that was, like, something you didn't do."

"It isn't! I mean – he _wouldn't."_ Kurt's face was mortified in the rear view mirror. He made eye contact with Dave. "I'm sure it was a mistake. My dad wouldn't deliberately out anybody. He must have thought you'd already told your dad. I'm _so sorry."_

Dave relented. "It's okay," he said. "I needed to tell him anyway. It just kind of sucked, having somebody else make that decision for me."

Finn looked back at him in sympathy. "Jeez. Did your dad freak out?"

"Not really," said Dave. "My dad doesn't freak out, about anything. He's always in control. It's kind of annoying, actually."

Puck snorted a laugh. "Hey, I'd take that over how _my_ dad used to be. Hummel, put on the radio. This car trip needs music. And beef jerky. And fart jokes."

"You're truly appalling, Puck," Kurt said, but he tuned to Dave's favorite station, which he _knew_ was never Kurt's favorite. Dave thought he was starting to see how things were between Kurt and Finn and Puck. He wasn't quite ready to be part of it, but he was glad to be _near_ it, as though the brotherly vibe might somehow soak into him by osmosis, and make him less alone. _It could happen._

Puck broke into a smile and nudged Dave when "Born to Be Wild" came on the radio. "You bring your air guitar?"

"Right here," Dave said, doing a fake run. "You bring your real one?"

"In the back," Puck said. "You gonna sing with us tonight?"

Dave felt a ripple of fear, but he made himself laugh. "If you get enough beer in me."

The song was infectious, and Dave and Puck weren't the only ones singing along. He smiled at Puck, playing his own air guitar now that he wasn't driving, and Finn was playing a credible imaginary drum kit in the front seat.

_Like a true nature child  
><em>_We were born  
><em>_Born to be wild  
><em>_We have climbed so high  
><em>_Never want to die  
><em>_Born to be wild  
><em>_Born to be wild_

"Boys," Kurt sighed. "I'm going to faint from the aroma of testosterone in this car."

"Dude, you really can't complain," Finn said. "_I'm_ the only one here who's not into dudes."

Puck reached over the headrest and grabbed a handful of Finn's cheek, waggling it. "Don't worry, Finn, we won't rub off on you, not even if you ask."

"Gross," Finn said, batting away Puck's hand, but he was laughing.

They stopped outside of town to buy hot dogs and buns, and stuff to make s'mores, and a plastic-wrapped thing of firewood. Dave realized after a minute that Puck had vanished. "Where's Puck?" he asked Finn.

"He's in charge of the beer," Finn explained. "He's the only one with a fake ID. We'll pick him up around at the other exit."

Dave felt a little uneasy and a little impressed at the prospect of buying beer; he'd never really done that before, though he'd certainly consumed plenty of it at post-game parties and after prom. "He's not afraid of getting caught?"

"Well, it's always possible," Finn said. "That's why we never do it in town. Less chance of being recognized. But Puck can totally pass for twenty-one. Don't you think?"

"I guess," Dave said. "I just… well, it would suck for him, and his dreams, if he got caught. He'd get into more trouble than the rest of us, because of the juvie charge. I'd hate for that to happen."

Finn grinned at Dave. "Man, you really do like him, huh?"

Dave was still red by the time they got back to the car. Kurt looked at him funny, then at Finn with reproach. "You're not giving him a hard time, are you?" he said.

"Since when are you so concerned about _Karofsky?"_ said Finn, but he shot an apologetic look into the back seat as Puck climbed in with the beer.

* * *

><p>The parking lot at St. Mary's State Park was almost halfway full, and the RV section teemed with families and dogs and little kids chasing each other with sparklers. Puck pointed to a path into the woods. "If we hike in there, past the lots with hookups, there are some rustic camping sites up by the beach."<p>

Kurt was surprisingly okay with this. "My mom and dad used to go camping all the time when I was a kid," he said, seating his sunglasses firmly on his nose. "It's my dad who doesn't want to do it anymore. I think he has an irrational fear of insects."

The lake was crowded with boats and jet skis, but they were mostly on the other side, by the public beach. Only a couple other tents were pitched in the trees by the water. Dave surveyed the nearby trees for poison ivy, then began to clear the ground of rocks and branches. He was already laying out the tarp when Puck came up behind him and put both arms around him.

"Hey," he said, surprised.

"I can totally see you as a Boy Scout," Puck murmured, and Dave laughed uneasily. He watched the family down by the lake watching them, and stepped out from Puck's embrace.

"We should face the tent to the south," he said, taking it out of the bag, and began to put the aluminum tent poles together.

"Sure," said Puck, "if you still want me to stay in your tent. I'm getting the idea you'd rather be left alone."

Dave glanced unhappily at Puck. "Not really."

Puck's return gaze was steady, just like the one he'd given Dave's dad when he'd spoken to him in the car. "You ashamed of me?"

"No – no!" Dave wrinkled his brow. The man and the kids were playing on the beach now, but the woman was still watching them. "Jesus. Just give me a minute."

"Your dad seemed okay," Puck said. "He knew who I was, to you, and he was okay."

"Yeah," Dave said. He didn't look directly at the woman, but he watched her out of the corner of his eye as he pretended to survey the beach. She wasn't smiling.

Puck came around to the other side of the tarp and reached out to grab the edge of the tent. They stretched it out flat, then Dave helped him slide the poles into their sleeves and fix the clips. "You want to go for a walk when we're done here?" Puck suggested, staking down one corner.

Dave wished they could just disappear into their tent for a few hours, but figured that would be a little obvious, so he said, "Sure."

They followed the trail into the woods around to the west side of Grand Lake, along shoreline, where small peninsulas and inlets formed a cove. Dave watched a couple jet by in their boat, sitting close together in the seat. The man wasn't wearing his shirt. The air was heavy with humidity; Dave wondered how it might be to take his own shirt off.

"We could go swimming," Puck said.

Dave scanned the empty beach. "I don't know if we're supposed to, here."

"Live a little." He looked away as Puck tugged his own shirt up off; the muscles of his back and shoulders rippled too distractingly under his skin. When he took off his shorts, _then_ his briefs, Dave looked around again, anxiously hoping no one would appear around the edge of the cove. No one did. Puck was already moving out to the open water, grinning. "Come on, gorgeous. Get your ass in the lake. Nobody cares."

He wasn't sure why it felt so different to take off _all_ his clothes in front of Puck, here in the woods_,_ compared to the way it felt inside, or even outside on the pool deck. But it felt like a big deal to Dave, shucking his shorts and shirt and – _gulp_ – boxers onto the shore and quickly wading into the water. The bottom by the shore was mucky and covered with soft, slimy sediment, but eventually transitioned to pebbles and sand as the water got deeper. If he stood still, he could feel tiny fish nibbling at his ankles.

"Tell me that doesn't feel awesome." Puck paddled around on his back, giving Dave tantalizing glimpses of his lower abdomen and legs. "You can do your laps now, if you want. I'll watch out for boats."

"I think I'll wait," Dave said. He moved in closer to Puck, close enough so their legs touched under the water. Puck paused in surprise, and when Dave reached for him, he hesitated, looking troubled.

"You weren't so keen on me touching you up by the campsite," Puck said.

Dave's hand met Puck's stomach under the water, and this time Puck let him, groping between his legs, coaxing him to hardness. "It's different when we're alone," Dave said, his voice low. "I can't keep my hands off you."

"Why do we have to be alone?" Puck's hands were on Dave's shoulders, warm in the sun above the water, while the skin of his chest and legs were cool – all but his cock, which was hot and hard and ready for Puck. "So what if someone sees?"

Dave thought about the way that woman had watched them at their campsite. "I don't want to make anybody uncomfortable."

"Well, that's their problem, right? They have necks. They can turn 'em." Puck's hands moved over Dave's chest, stroking circles over his nipples with his thumbs. Dave shuddered, and Puck did it again, smiling at the reaction. It was a strange sensation, one that Dave hadn't really noticed before, but as Puck paid more attention to those points of puckered flesh, he was amazed at the way all the nerve endings of his body seemed to be attached to them, especially the ones in his cock and his ass. He groaned as Puck moved his mouth to the left one, swiping rough swirls with his tongue. With every pass, he felt another shower of tingling sensation.

"God," he whimpered.

"Touch me, baby," Puck urged, moving Dave's hand to his nipple ring, and putting his mouth back on Dave's nipple. He sucked hard, making Dave buck his hips into Puck's chest. He shivered as he felt Puck's hard cock brushing against his legs. When Puck's hand went around Dave's own cock under the water, he surged up against Puck's mouth, mashing his nipple against his teeth, and that felt _way_ better than he'd expected it would. Dave's fingers made a rhythmic pattern on Puck's pierced nipple, and the sounds that came from Puck's mouth matched the movements of his hand.

"That feels… incredible," said Dave, feeling the coiling tension building, and he thrust into Puck's hand around his cock, the water producing its own motion and friction.

"Yeah, you totally need a nipple ring," Puck said, breathless, and dug his teeth and tongue in harder, and that image which had _never_ before appealed to Dave, not _ever_, suddenly seemed like the most erotic possibility of his life. He made one stifled shout, and came into Puck's stroking fist.

Puck laughed, thrilling and deep in his throat. "God. You are the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen."

Even before Dave's breathing had slowed and his cock had stopped pulsing, Puck was climbing up into his arms, wrapping his legs around Dave's waist and rubbing against him shamelessly. Dave wedged a hand in between their bodies and found Puck's cock, and Puck's tongue fucked Dave's mouth, as though his intention was to get him hard again, right away. It sure was working.

Dave heard voices on the shore, and he immediately dropped their intertwined bodies down into the water, so only their heads were showing. He propelled them closer to the shore, around the bend of the cove, into the cover of the brush. Luckily the hikers didn't seem to notice them. Puck wasn't in any condition to ask Dave to stop, and Dave kept his mouth engaged to prevent any loud, unintentional noises from escaping.

It was all over when Dave's fingers trailed down Puck's back and brushed against his clenching ass. "I wish I could fuck you right now," Dave whispered into Puck's mouth, and Puck gave him a hot, low moan of wanting, thrusting up against Dave's chest, and came in thick, white stripes onto his neck. Dave felt the heat and slickness and moaned right back.

They stayed down in the water, shuddering with occasional aftershocks, until they were sure nobody else was coming down the path. "I suppose they saw our clothes," Dave said.

"So what," Puck shrugged. "God, Dave. You, me, a dry sleeping bag and a bottle of lube. Tonight, after fireworks. It's a date, got it?"

"You bet," Dave said, smiling in anticipation. It wasn't even the sex, so much, as the closeness of being together afterwards he loved. He never expected to want that so much, but now, on those days Puck wasn't able to spend the night at the Lapeer's, he'd missed it entirely too much.

They manage to get their clothes back on over their wet bodies without being spotted, and walked through the cool woods along the path back to their campsite. Finn was building a fire and didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary – he'd never been the most observant – but Kurt gave them one appraising glance, then rolled his eyes.

"Have a good swim?" he said.

"Awesome," Puck affirmed, and Dave ducked into their tent before his embarrassment completely did him in.

* * *

><p>The fire didn't catch right away, but Dave helped Finn set it up a little differently, with more dry tinder underneath, and eventually it was blazing away. Puck used Dave's knife to strip some long sticks and sharpen them for cooking hot dogs and marshmallows; with a little supervision he was even able to do it without cutting himself.<p>

Kurt managed the production of s'mores, which Dave was told in no uncertain terms was spelled with an s and an apostrophe, and required two square graham crackers, a squareish piece of chocolate (apparently the darker, the better – they had Dove Promises) and a perfectly toasted gooey marshmallow. Finn was in charge of hot dogs and disposal of all imperfectly toasted marshmallows; by the time the fireworks started, he'd eaten thirteen and showed no signs of stopping.

Dave let himself have two hot dogs and one s'more before stopping and watching Puck and Finn devour the rest. Kurt gave him a sympathetic pat on the arm. "Your arteries will thank you," he said. Dave waited for him to say something about his waist, but he didn't.

The fireworks were set off at the public beach across the lake, so they set up chairs and a blanket on the beach to watch from there. It was kind of nice to be able to watch them without the noise being quite so deafening.

Puck sat next to Dave on the beach blanket and took his hand with a mildly defiant expression. After a few minutes, Dave tugged Puck over closer, making room for him between his legs to lean up against his chest. Puck, after a moment of surprise, did so.

"Nice," he said.

Dave didn't say anything, but he smiled and tried to be casual about it, even when he noticed the woman in the family down the beach watching him.

When the fireworks were over, the family's kids ran up and down on the sand, chasing each other with seaweed and lighting firecrackers. Finn said to the father, "Do you think they might want a s'more?" after which they were beset with three hungry, inquisitive children between the ages of six and eleven.

Finally Puck got out his guitar. The oldest one, named Andrew, was patient enough to watch carefully while Puck taught him an A chord and a D chord, after which Puck coached him through playing U2's "All I Want Is You" very slowly. Then Puck took over, playing some familiar campfire songs for the kids. Dave could barely stop grinning long enough to sing "Born to Be Wild" with everybody.

"You have a nice voice," Kurt said to Dave, in obvious surprise.

"It's not my thing," Dave said, shrugging, but he was pleased.

"You know it's Puck's thing, though," Kurt said, clasping his hands and resting them on his crossed knees, looking up at the stars. "If you sang to him, he'd probably do anything you asked him to."

It was apparently the Day of Blushing for Dave, because he sat there in the firelight, glad nobody could see the color of his skin, wondering what _anything _might include. "I can't play guitar," he said, eventually.

"So, you get someone else to play for you," Kurt said. "Most musicians don't accompany themselves. I never do."

After a soulful chorus of "Let It Be," the woman came over and sat next to her middle son, watching Puck. She still wasn't smiling. Dave felt the tightness return – _fear,_ he remembered, knowing he could name it now - but he thought of his dad, and the steady look Puck had used when he'd looked back at him, and he tried it now on the woman. It made him feel a sense of power when she looked away.

"I'm Dave," he said. "You have nice kids."

She took his offered hand, surprised, and shook it. "Emily," she said. "My husband Chris is over there. You've met the boys."

He nodded, feeling Puck's eyes on him, and took a deep breath. "That's Finn," he pointed, "and his brother Kurt. And… Puck. My boyfriend."

Puck's next chord came out a little louder than it probably was meant to, but he didn't stop playing. Emily didn't look surprised. She nodded.

"My brother is gay," she said. "He's in Afghanistan. I miss him a lot."

Dave exchanged a glance with Puck. "I'm really sorry to hear that," Dave said.

"Yeah, that sucks," Puck added.

She smiled, shrugging, and drew pictures in the sand, her nine-year-old helping. "He'll come home eventually. It was… well, it's nice, to see you two together. Most kids your age aren't so ready to be out and honest. My brother certainly wasn't, though that was many years ago." She looked up at them again. "I just wanted you to know that."

"Thanks," said Puck, glancing at Kurt, who was looking smug for some reason. "That's good to hear. I'm glad it doesn't bother you."

"No," she said. "Not at all. The world's changing, I hope. I want my kids to grow up in a world where it's, just, _normal._ You know?"

Dave wondered what Emily might say if she knew he'd been using words like _faggot_ to describe himself less than one month before, and if anyone had told him then he'd be sitting on the beach with his boyfriend on the Fourth of July, coming out to a random stranger, he would have thought they were completely insane.

"I guess everybody takes time to accept new things," he said. "It just takes some people longer."

* * *

><p>After the quietest lovemaking either of them had ever attempted, Dave lay beside Puck in the dark silence of the tent.<p>

"Have you ever been in love before?" Puck asked, quietly.

Dave let the question filter through his brain and wondered how he should answer.

"Before now, I mean," Puck added. He shifted to face Dave. "Before this."

"Not – not like this," Dave said. "Not so you'd notice."

The silence continued. Dave could hear the crickets and frogs outside, loud as a conversation, but not as loud as Dave's heart. There was a far-away volley of fireworks.

He couldn't see him, but he heard Puck lifting up on his elbow, heard him closer still, and felt their knuckles brush. "It's the weirdest thing. I barely _knew_ you before this summer. You were there, but I had no idea who you were. And now… I can't even imagine not knowing you. Like, really knowing you."

"Yeah," Dave agreed. He was having trouble picturing a world without Puck in it; whenever he tried, he felt suddenly dizzy all over, and had to sit down for a minute. The word _terrified_ came to mind, but he figured that was a little too insane to mention, after less than four weeks together. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

"So…" Puck sounded nervous, now, and Dave hooked their fingers together, holding on. "The scar. On my head?"

Dave wanted to touch it, wanted to run his fingers over that spot, oddly void of hair, but he didn't want to interrupt Puck's narrative, which clearly was taking a lot of effort. So he just said, as gently as he could, "Yeah?"

"I was ten," he said, haltingly, "and my mom was working late – even when my dad was still there, she was always working extra shifts, because he hardly could hold down a job – so my dad was watching us. I would usually put Sarah to bed, made sure she brushed her teeth, that kind of thing. My dad would sit on the couch and drink and tell us what to do, when he remembered. Mostly he'd ignore us, which was fine."

There was a long pause, during which Dave wondered if he should say something, but before he could decide if he should or shouldn't, Puck continued.

"We had a big glass dish that my Ma would keep stocked with cookies, hamentaschen and mandel bread and rugalech and whatever else my Ma's friends had given her that week. Jews like to eat, you know."

"Okay," Dave said, cautiously, not wanting to seem insensitive, but knowing zero about being Jewish other than they wore funny hats at church – _synagogue,_ he reminded himself.

"My Ma would leave the dish out, and we could each have one before bed… but my dad, he decided suddenly we'd had too many sweets or something. Some crazy burst of effort to show off his parenting skills. He was kind of fucked up that way. Anyway, he put it on top of the fridge." He took a deep breath. "Sarah was freaking out because she really wanted this one kind of rugalech we never had, but there was some on the dish, and I – well, I got a chair and I climbed up to reach on top of the fridge and get one, and the dish fell on my head. It broke."

"The dish," Dave said.

"My head, too," Puck clarified. "The dish broke on my head and I don't remember much about that part. I just remember a lot of blood and my dad fucking screaming at me, and Sarah looking scared. And sitting on the hospital gurney in the hallway, for like, two hours, freezing my ass off, while we waited to see the doctor after they'd stitched me up."

Now Dave did reach up and touch his head, just caressed the spot, pulling him close, and Puck let out an unhappy sigh.

"My Ma was so pissed at him for putting that dish on top of the fridge. She wouldn't let him back in the house for days. He left for good a couple weeks after that." After a painful silence, he added, "I never told anybody the truth about that before. I always said it happened when our car rolled over."

"Thanks for telling me," Dave murmured.

"I think… I always figured my dad left because of me," he said. "I mean, I know it's crazy to think that, and I _know_ they had a fucking awful marriage, but… back then, it was easy to blame myself, for trying to get the rugalech."

"You thought your mom and dad broke up over a cookie?" Dave blinked, and listened to Puck's short, surprised laugh.

"Well, I was only ten," he said.

"God, that sucks," Dave said. "You can't tell me you've been blaming yourself all this time."

"Not – exactly. It wasn't just the rugalech. I've always been a bad kid. I did a lot of shit my dad yelled at me for. Worse than that, too. I deserved most of it, I guess… but there's stuff that parents should do that he never did. I just needed my dad to tell me he loved me, you know? But he just gave me hell and told me I was worthless."

"You're not," Dave insisted.

Puck sighed. "I know you don't think so. But I think there are too many years of that same fucking message in my head for your voice to get through."

Dave fumbled his hand out in the shadows of the tent, finding a rounded shoulder, finely muscled triceps, the side of his neck, and he wiggled his sleeping bag closer, so he was right up against Puck, sharing the same breath. "I guess I'll have to say it a lot, then," he said. "For… a long time. You think that'd help?"

He could feel Puck's heart beating in syncopated time to his. "You're in no position to make any fucking promises, Karofsky," Puck said, a little angry. "Don't pretend you are, even if you wanted to."

Dave thought about the way senior year had always felt like this perfect goal, the pinnacle of his high school experience, the penultimate shining trophy of teenagehood, to be claimed before he would move on to college, and the rest of his life. Now all he could think about was how he could make this summer last forever. _This_ was what he wanted the rest of his life to feel like. Just this.

He kissed Puck, then, making him feel it, willing him to understand, so that he wouldn't have to say all those stupid fucking things out loud like _You're part of me_ or _I never want to let you go. _ He hoped it was enough.


	11. Chapter 11

Dave had lived in the house on Tall Oaks almost all of his life, since his mom died when he was three, and it was hard to imagine living anywhere else. The neighborhood, the backyard stand of pines, his bedroom in the front of the house, they were all connected to memories and aspects of his childhood. He felt lucky that his dad's job was steady enough that they hadn't ever had to move.

But now here he was, on the last afternoon before the Lapeer family returned from their vacation, walking around the house, touching every last thing and feeling as melancholy as he'd ever felt about a piece of property. Because all the things he and Puck had done, their _firsts_ – all the ones so far, anyway – they'd happened _here._ In someone else's house, a house it was conceivable he might never enter again after today.

Puck seemed to understand this without even asking Dave one question. Even though it wasn't the Lapeer's pool cleaning day, he stopped by for lunch with lowfat sandwiches from Subway, and they lay on the patio in the haze of the afternoon and talked about nothing in particular. Puck was good at getting him to talk when he thought he had run out of things to say. Every now and then he would reach over and touch Puck, on the hand or the leg, and it wasn't even sexual - it was just the best thing about being his boyfriend, that he could do that, and Puck didn't question it.

"Where do you think you want to live, if you could pick a place?" Puck asked. He was stretched out on the chaise across from Dave, sunglasses turned to the sky. The cutoffs were starting to fray badly now; pretty soon he wouldn't be able to wear them anywhere without being accused of indecent exposure. Dave figured he could enjoy them for a little bit longer around the pool, though. The angle was pretty awesome, too.

"Well… I guess, after college, I'll go wherever I get a job," he said.

"That's not what I asked," Puck said, shaking his head. "If you could pick. Assume you get your dream job. Where would it be?"

"Um. A city somewhere, I think. Not too big. I don't really know. It'd be nice to be someplace close to my dad, but where I could still be… myself. And not worry about assholes."

"There's assholes everywhere," Puck pointed out. "Even in big cities. You'd be fine anywhere, I think, big city or small town or whatever. You get along with everybody."

Dave snorted. "Dude. You're the one with the ridiculous charisma."

Puck turned his head, but Dave couldn't see his eyes through the glasses. "Whatever."

"No, seriously. You've got a killer smile, and you're fucking hilarious. You could win anybody over. I could totally see you with, like, a fan club and shit like that."

Dave was kind of amused to see how Puck's blush went all the way down his chest, but he was smiling. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Dave said.

"Well," said Puck, "I've got a song tonight. I mean, I wrote a song. I thought I'd sing it."

"You wrote a song?"

Puck sighed. "Don't sound so surprised, dude. _Yes,_ I wrote a song. I've been writing a fucking boatload of them."

Dave reached over and touched Puck's hand. "Well, can I hear it?"

"Tonight. That's why it's called a performance? I'm gonna, you know, perform."

He felt a tingling in his stomach that was a little like nausea and a little like being turned on and a little like the one time he'd tried pot. "Fuck, man," he said, and he felt shaken, literally, like someone had tossed him in the air like a dog toy.

Puck sat up and took off his sunglasses, gazing at Dave with amusement. "Don't freak out. There's nothing super gay about it. Nobody'll know it's for you."

"_I'll_ know," Dave said. "That's enough." Then he cocked his head. "Super gay?"

Puck shrugged, grinning. "Like, there's no blowjobs."

Dave laughed. "A song with blowjobs?"

"It could happen. Don't put it past the sex shark." His eyes did this funny crinkly thing when he smiled that made it hard for Dave to look at anything else, but he didn't want to make Puck feel self-conscious. Puck cleared his throat, looking at the pool. "You, uh. You... _want_ me to sing it to you? 'Cause if you'd rather, I can just pretend to sing to that girl who's always sitting in the front row."

"I think she has a thing for you," Dave said, grinning nervously.

"Damn straight she does." He put the sunglasses back on. "So, what do you want me to do?"

Dave told himself not to freak out, but he could feel his heart rate increasing and his chest getting tight, all on their own. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I don't want you to sing to anybody else, but I'm not sure what I'd do if you sang to me in front of the whole open mic."

"I honestly don't think anybody cares," Puck said. "It's not like I want to fuck you on stage." He stood up, striding quickly back to the house.

"Puck?"

"Forget about it," Puck said, waving a hand. "I'll save it for next time. I've got other shit I can sing. I'm going to head out, okay?"

Dave stripped off his shirt and dove into the pool, moving right into laps without saying anything. He pictured himself sitting next to Mark at the sound board, with Puck's eyes on him, smiling at him, singing to him. _Come on, baby,_ he could hear Puck saying, and he squirmed inside. Maybe the song would call him _baby._ Lots of songs did. Puck did all the time now, mostly when they were making love, but sometimes just casually, and he liked it, but he didn't think he would like it in front of anybody else. It was too intimate, too private. He wasn't sure he could handle that.

_Or what if the song were bad? _He'd never heard any songs Puck had written. Maybe it was the kind of song that you feel embarrassed to hear, even if it _wasn't_ for you, because the songwriter had obviously tried their best, but it just they'd made it so fucking sweet that only girls or hummingbirds could tolerate it? Puck wasn't super sappy, at least not where anybody could hear him, but maybe he would think it was okay in a song?

The questions came one right after another, but in the end, Puck was left with the realization that Puck had _made something_ for him, just invented it out of nothing, and he was going to take a chance and perform it in front of an audience. All Dave had to do was show up, smile in the right places and be gracious. _And come out to seventy of my closest friends._

After his workout, he got out of the pool. Puck was long gone. He took his time drying off, upstairs, and put on his new black shirt. He thought he might actually look pretty good in it, and even spent a few minutes admiring himself in the mirror. Then he went through the process of packing all his clothes, emptying each drawer one at a time into his duffel bag, stripping the bed and making a pile of laundry to go downstairs for one last load. He put all his toothpaste and shampoo and shaving stuff into his black zipper case and wiped down the counter in the bathroom, trying not to think about how lonely morning showers would be after today.

When he was all packed, he came downstairs and walked through the house, picking up all the things that belonged to him and collecting them in a bag. He took the few remaining foods from the fridge and freezer and the leftover Chinese food from two days ago. He packed everything into his car.

Then he called Puck.

"I'm done here," he said. "I'm going home."

"Okay," Puck said.

"I'll see you tonight at the open mic?"

"I'll be there."

Dave sat in the driver's seat of the Subaru, looking up at the house, the little window that had been his room, his and Puck's, the back gate that led to the pool, where they'd… _fuck. _He wiped his nose.

"Are you okay?" Puck's voice was uncertain.

"I think I want you to sing to me," Dave said. "I'm not promising I won't freak out in the middle of the performance, but I think… I want that."

"Okay," Puck said again. He was smiling, Dave could hear it. "No blowjobs, I promise."

Dave laughed through his fucking obnoxious tears. "Afterwards, maybe?"

"Anytime, baby."

It wasn't that he _minded_ the word, exactly. He could feel it reverberating through him long after he'd hung up the phone, like a game of ping-pong, bouncing off each of his organs and settling in his stomach. It stayed with him, _baby,_ a word he'd never heard from his dad or any girlfriend, and left him vaguely breathless, like he'd caught a well-thrown football with no pads on. _Baby. _He wondered if it was like the way Puck felt when he called him _Noah._

* * *

><p>Dave had arrived an hour early to the open mic, but after talking with Mark about the stuff he needed to arrange, he took a walk around the block to Kewpee to get a burger, so it wouldn't look like he was too obnoxiously fanboyish. He ran into Finn and Rachel on the way back.<p>

"Hey," Finn said, smiling, and shook his hand as though he were a grownup. "How's it going?"

"Hello, David," Rachel said, looking at him with big eyes, and Dave knew Finn had told her about him and Puck. _Oh, no, this wasn't going to be weird at all._

"Hey," he said. "You guys here to hear Puck?"

"Yeah," Finn said, enthusiastic as always. "It's already filling up. I want to get a better seat this time. He said he was going first."

Dave walked beside Rachel on the way back to the Meeting Place, who kept glancing up at him in an oddly nervous gesture. "What is it, Berry," he finally said.

"I have two gay dads," she blurted. "I… I just wanted you to know that you're in supportive company."

"Okay," he said, trying to be easy about it. "Thanks."

"Noah and I have a history, and… well, I know he's a very nice boy, underneath it all," she went on. "I'm glad he's finding himself."

He looked curiously at Rachel. "I kind of think I'm the one who got found."

"Oh – yes," she said, flustered. "I'm… well, I'm happy for you. Both of you."

"Thanks," he said again, and that was it. It was a little weird to think he'd shared a boyfriend with Rachel Berry, but then, Puck had gone out with a lot of girls, and no few moms, he'd heard, so there was probably weirder he didn't know about. He wondered if Puck had ever sung a song to Rachel.

There was a bigger crowd than there had been last time, but they found three seats together near the right side. Puck was already on the stool in front, his electric guitar on his lap, talking and smiling with the girl in the front row. He didn't notice Dave or Finn.

Puck spoke into the mic. "Thanks for coming tonight, everyone. We appreciate your support for this performance space." He didn't look nervous at all, but Dave could see the way he was touching his guitar, holding it in both hands. He liked that he knew that about Puck, could tell something hidden about him. He thought about the scar on Puck's head, and he thought, _he trusts me._ It made him smile.

He opened with Tom Petty's "Free Fallin'," showing off his impressive range. Puck had told him he liked to begin with a familiar cover. He kept his focus on the guitar, not on the audience, but the applause was enthusiastic.

The second song had a rocking country feel to it; he didn't recognize it at first, but by the time Puck got to the chorus he realized what it was, and he was kind of glad Puck hadn't decided to sing this one to him, because it was a little too close to the truth.

_People are talking, talking 'bout people  
><em>_I hear them whisper, you won't believe it  
><em>_They think we're lovers kept under covers  
><em>_I just ignore it, they keep saying  
><em>

_We laugh just a little too loud  
><em>_Stand just a little too close  
><em>_Stare just a little too long  
><em>_Maybe they're seeing something we don't, darlin'_

_Let's give 'em something to talk about_

When the applause had died down, he handed his electric guitar to one of the other performers and picked up his acoustic. The other performer, a dark-haired girl, seated herself at the piano and pulled the microphone closer, doing a quick sound check.

"It's not the first time I've performed an original song here," he said, tuning up, "but it's the first time I've written one for someone in the audience."

Dave saw Mark glance over at him from across the room, a surprised smile on his face.

"Dude," whispered Finn, "does he mean you?"

"Shh," he said, crossing his arms. Puck wasn't staring at anybody. He just strummed a few chords, and began.

.com/watch?v=jb-qwhzv_OA

_Late at night  
><em>_A voice on the phone  
><em>_Your memories and dreams  
><em>_Won't leave you alone_

_Something that happened  
><em>_So long ago  
><em>_You can't tell the truth  
><em>_And you can't go back home_

_So you kept it a secret  
><em>_For so many years  
><em>_Hidden in anger  
><em>_Shadowed in fear_

_People will question  
><em>_If what you're saying is true  
><em>_If you listen to questions  
><em>_They get the best of you_

_The best of you is what they never would notice  
><em>_The best of you is what they never could own  
><em>_The best of you is what lays hidden deep in your heart  
><em>_The best of you is all that I came to know_

Dave felt the heat on his face. This wasn't a love song, but somehow it felt even _more _intimate than that. Puck was holding the guitar and singing and it was like he had his hands on Dave, like he was touching his skin, like he'd kissed him, right from the stage. It was hard to hear the girl at the piano singing the harmonies of the chorus with Puck, a girl he didn't even know, singing _about him._

_One little moment suspended in time  
><em>_The blame's on the others  
><em>_The shame's in your mind_

_All of the silence  
><em>_They inflicted on you  
><em>_If you're living in silence  
><em>_They get the best of you_

_So you studied each corner  
><em>_Of your own little room  
><em>_Every crack on the ceiling  
><em>_Every inch of the tomb_

_And some footsteps remind you  
><em>_And the nightmare begins  
><em>_If you're listening for footsteps  
><em>_Then you're letting them win_

_And it's you who feels guilty  
><em>_For the things that they did  
><em>_They put the world on your shoulders  
><em>_when you were a kid_

_And you changed all the stories  
><em>_Like they wanted you to  
><em>_If you follow their wishes  
><em>_They get the best of you_

Puck had waited until the end to make any kind of eye contact. He guessed the reason why, and why Puck had kept the song for last, when he saw the slight tremble in his lip. But his voice didn't waver, and he looked right at Dave when he sang the chorus for the last time.

_The best of you is what they never would notice  
><em>_The best of you is what they never could own  
><em>_The best of you is what lays hidden deep in your heart  
><em>_The best of you is all that I came to know_

He let the last note die away, a faint smile on his lips, and looked down to the floor. Everyone applauded, no one louder than Dave, and he wished he could tell Puck somehow with the way he was clapping that he really _meant_ it, that he wasn't just being polite. _Later. He'll know it, later._

Dave had to sit through the rest of the performances. Puck played accompaniment and sang backup for a few of the other singers, including one awesome electric guitar solo that made Finn whistle and applaud hard, but Dave barely heard a word anybody else sang. He was tingling all over with the impact of Puck's words – amazing, how _words_ could have such an effect, when sung by a person who loved you.

And then the music was over, and Dave realized Puck was going to walk right up to him, and everybody was going to know, everybody was going to see in Puck's face _exactly _who the song was for, and _holy fuck,_ what was he going to do then? Was he going to hug him? What did he expect Dave to do?

Dave was up and out of his seat before anyone else, stepping over Rachel's saddle shoes and Finn's sandals, and he stumbled to the door with a mumbled apology. It was cool outside tonight, and looked like it might rain, but Dave didn't care, he just set up a measured pace down the sidewalk, watching his feet carry him away from Puck, away from the eyes of the crowd, away from the sensation of the music on his skin.

He went straight down West, toward the Catholic church, and had pushed through the double doors before he could stop to think. The church was quiet and still on a Thursday night, and there was no reason he could fathom why he'd be there, other than it wasn't a place Puck would think to look for him. He was safe, for the moment.

_Why _he'd want to run away from Puck wasn't exactly clear, but he just needed a moment to figure things out. There was a table with a lighted candle, and he crouched down in front of it, staring at the candle in perplexity. What _had_ happened? He'd been clapping, and feeling so proud of Puck, so much a part of the experience, and then… then…

_Then the fear took over,_ he realized. The candle flickered, and he put a finger on the edge of the glass. It was thought about the words of Puck's song. It occurred to him that, on top of touching him in a very personal way, it had been a damn good song. It made him feel even better about the conversation he'd had with Mark before the show.

The warmth in the glass went with him, and the lyrics, _The best of you is what lays hidden deep in your heart. The best of you is all that I came to know, _as he walked back out the door of the church, and the block north to the Meeting Place, and back inside to where the performers and audience were still milling around. He'd only been gone a few minutes, but he felt changed by his exit and return.

He found Puck putting away his guitar and went right up to him. Puck watched him with wary eyes, but when Dave said, "That was fantastic," he relaxed into his smile, and everything was fine.

"I've got a few more minutes here," he said, "but then we can go – oh." Puck looked crestfallen. "We can't, can we?"

"No," said Dave. "They came home tonight. I'm going back to my house."

Puck chewed on the inside of his lip. "Or… you could come to my house. My sister's home, but my Ma's on shift tonight."

"Yeah?" Dave thought that might fly, but he'd need some kind of story to tell his dad, because sleeping over, alone, at Puck's house was a lot different from going camping with two other guys. "I'll let you know."

Puck's smile, like the song, felt a lot more intimate than it had any right to be in the middle of this audience, but he accepted it, let it settle on him and appreciated it for what it was: a gift. "Nice work, man," he added, just to see the smile deepen.

This time when he walked out, he passed by Mark, and smiled at him, too. "We on for next week?" he said.

"You bet, man," said Mark. "I'll see you at the studio at 3." He dropped his voice, and added, "Those were some inspired lyrics."

Whatever else Puck seemed to know about Mark, and about him being married, Dave was pretty sure he was _some_ kind of gay, because the wistful, understanding expression wasn't just conveying "supportive" to Dave. "I've never had somebody write music about me before," said Dave.

"How's it feel?" Mark wanted to know.

"Scary as all fuck," Dave said. "But also like the biggest gift in the world."

Mark smiled. "He looks like he's pretty much feeling the same way about you."

Dave stared across the room at Puck, and their eyes met. It was a whole lot like those old movies made it feel, where the music swells and the rest of the crowd fades into shadow, and Dave thought he might actually be shaking with the reaction.

"Pretty much," he said faintly.

* * *

><p>Puck had just about given up when there was a knock on the door. He ran to answer it, but Sarah got there first. She grinned up at Dave.<p>

"You're spending the night?" she said suggestively, raising an eyebrow. He turned red.

"Uh, if that's okay with you," he said.

"Totally not her call," Puck asserted, putting himself between Sarah and Dave. "Get lost, squirt. He's mine."

"It's fine with me," she assured him, before Puck shooed her away. "Really. You're much cooler than any of the other guys he's brought home. The last one was –"

"We'll save that for another time," Puck growled. "Piss off."

"I can't believe she's only eleven," Dave said, watching her go. He shook his head. "And I'm totally going to find out about those other guys, so you might as well tell me who they were."

Puck moved in close to Dave, pressing him against the wall next to the door. "You really want a list?" He kissed him firmly, tucking a knee in between Dave's legs, letting him feel his arousal against his thigh. "I'm not even sure I can remember everybody."

"Oh, and that's supposed to make me feel good?" Dave complained, but he was smiling, and his own hands wrapped around Puck's neck while he kissed back.

"Yeah, man," Puck breathed, close to Dave's ear, making him shiver. "You're the last one on the list."

"So?"

"So it doesn't matter who else came before you," Puck explained patiently. He kissed Dave's ear. "You're it, for me. I'm done."

"Done," said Dave, sounding wobbly, but that could have been because of the ear thing.

"Yeah, like... I found what I was looking for."

Dave stopped him talking for a while after that, his mouth and his tongue and his hands on his face making Puck pant like a fucking dog. "Upstairs," Puck said eventually, and he took Dave up to his room, unbuttoning his black shirt for him as he kicked the door to the hallway shut.

"So what'd you think of my song," he asked, trying to be casual, but he figured Dave could hear his voice shaking, just like he'd noticed his expression on stage. It'd been a near thing, getting through it without breaking down into stupid tears, but he'd managed.

Dave didn't respond for a minute, and Puck had to stop helping Dave out of his pants and look up at his face to make sure he'd heard the question. Dave's brow was fiercely knitted.

"It was really, really _good,"_ he said. "The lyrics, the music, the performance - everything. You really impressed me."

It wasn't the answer Puck had expected, and he broke into a smile. He leaned back on his heels. "Yeah?"

Dave still had that concentrating look. "And knowing it was for me, well... that freaked me out, like I said it would. I'm... I'm sorry I ran."

"It was okay, man," Puck said, tugging on Dave's pant leg. "I knew you'd be back."

"You - you did?" Dave was startled. "How?"

"Because you said you were done running," he said. "When you talked about Kurt. And you're a trustworthy guy, so I knew I could count on you."

Dave was quiet again after that, and Puck took off Dave's socks, like he had for Sarah when she was little.

"What if I hadn't?" Dave said at last, as they shed the last of their clothes. "What if I hadn't - come back?"

"You would have, eventually," Puck said.

Puck watched Dave emerge from his thoughtful introspection with determined focus. His face cleared, and he gazed down at Puck, kneeling on the floor. His hand reached out and drew Puck up onto the bed, next to him, then with firm pressure, leaned on top of him with both hands, holding him down. Puck felt the weight of Dave's regard even more heavily than he felt his body, and both were fucking _incredible._

"You gave me something tonight," Dave said quietly. "I don't even know if you knew that you did."

"The song?" Puck asked, blinking up at him.

"That," Dave agreed. "But also what the song meant. You _get me_. Nobody else ever did, not like that. I don't think I've ever felt so understood, by anybody, ever." His eyes burrowed into Puck like moles, and he found himself opening up to Dave of his own accord, reaching under his pillow for the bottle of lube and just handing it over without a word. Dave didn't need words to know what he wanted.

"I want to give you something," Dave said. His blunt fingers stretched him open, and Puck thrust onto them, marveling as always how much _better_ it felt when Dave did it. He'd never felt less like jacking off in his life - he, who'd always been a twice- or three-times-a-day guy, now found himself passing up opportunities for orgasms by himself in order to _wait_ to do it with Dave, instead.

"You do," Puck said, gasping at the stretch from the third finger. "I mean - you _are."_

"No," said Dave steadily, his voice low and hypnotic. "Something else."

Puck tried to speed up the pace, but Dave wasn't letting him. He made a complaining noise. Dave heard, but he didn't let him do anything about it, and Puck wasn't about to take over. "What?"

Dave smiled intimately. "You'll know it when you get it."

And then Dave replaced his three slick fingers with his cock, making Puck shout his name, and he drove him into the mattress with decisive, quick strokes that were just about guaranteed to get Puck off within bare seconds. "Dave," he said, in between thrusts, "Dave -"

"Shh," said Dave. "This isn't it. This is totally for me."

Dave rode him high and hard, satisfaction evident on his face long before he came, and Puck about passed out from the intensity of his own orgasm. They lay in a heap on Puck's bed for several minutes, Puck listening to Dave's heart pressed to his ear as it slowed.

"That was about the hottest fucking thing anybody's ever done to me," murmured Puck. "And the crazy thing is, I said that to myself _yesterday,_ too. You keep topping yourself."

"It's mutual, baby," said Dave, his hand stroking Puck's head.

Puck's immediate reaction was that of disbelief, but he let that get washed away in the unbelievable _pleasure_ he felt at the sound of the word, applied to him. He wondered if Dave could feel his heart hammering faster, harder, as though it wanted to make sure it pumped the blood efficiently enough to keep up with the insanity of being loved by Dave like this.

"Thanks for letting me stay over," Dave added. "I wasn't looking forward to being alone tonight."

"Consider it a standing invitation, whenever my Ma's working," he said. "I can't think of a reason I'd ever want to sleep without you."

Dave's big arm rolled him over, pulling him close to his chest, like Puck was a life-sized stuffed animal. "Tell me about it," Dave sighed, sounding as content as Puck had ever heard him.

Puck hadn't ever had a particularly hard time sleeping, but the protective circle of Dave's arms made him feel like he would never get out of bed again. He closed his eyes and let himself be lulled into dreams of a future in which Dave's arms were an inextricable part of his sleeping situation. _Yet another best ever. I wonder when we'll run out of those._

* * *

><p>Dave's arm was asleep when he woke up to use the john about an hour later, but Puck wasn't stirring, even when he leaned over and whispered dirty words into his ear. He found a robe hanging on the back of Puck's door, so he put it on and made his way down the hallway.<p>

A light on downstairs caught his attention, and he hesitated only a moment before heading down the staircase in the robe. Sarah was lying on the couch asleep, looking like she would wake up with a serious crick in her neck if she spent the whole night like that.

"Sarah," he said quietly, trying not to startle her, but he had to touch her on the arm before she would wake up.

"Mmmm," she said, stretching. "What." Her eyes opened sleepily, and she focused on Dave. "Is Noah okay?"

"Uh, yeah," he said. "Sleeping. I just saw the light, and I..."

"I always fall asleep on the couch," she said, groaning as she stretched further. "It's a lot easier than being alone in my room."

"I know what you mean," he said, though he'd never felt particularly worried about being alone.

She gave him a grumpy look. "You've got my _brother_ to sleep with. I'd better not hear you complaining."

"Uh," he said, feeling his ears heating up, but she was already heading into the kitchen.

"You want some ice cream?" he heard.

"Maybe a little." He followed her, watching her dig in the freezer and come up with a box of Dove Bars. "Dude. I don't think that counts as a _little_ ice cream."

"Fine," she said, shrugging. "You don't have to eat it. I won't be offended."

He looked in the fridge and found a yogurt instead. Sarah handed him a spoon. "One bite," she coaxed, holding out the Dove Bar. He sighed and took a nibble from the edge. _Heaven._

"You must be pretty serious about this losing weight business to say no to a Dove Bar," she said. She looked him over. "You look fine to me."

"Thanks," he said, not sure what else to say. "Puck seems to think so."

"_Noah_ thinks you're, like, the best thing since Krispy Kremes," she said with relish. "He's totally hot for you."

Dave couldn't help but grin. "I think he's pretty awesome, too."

She watched him eat the yogurt. "He's really your first boyfriend?"

"Yep," he said. "I was still trying to date girls before that. Pretty stupid, really."

"How did you know you were gay?"

He ate two full bites, slowly, before answering, but she didn't apologize for asking. He appreciated her straightforward approach. It made him feel like he was just normal, and she was just normal too. "I think when I was six," he said. "There was a boy, Ryan. We were just friends, but I never wanted to do anything but spend time with him. He moved away in second grade."

"Your first love," she said soberly. He nodded.

"I feel kind of dumb admitting to falling in love when I was six," he said, "but it really was. Love, I mean."

"It's not dumb." Sarah's eyes were scornful. "He probably felt the same way about you. You ever talk to him anymore?"

"No." He tried to remember details about Ryan, his last name, what his parents did for a living, but all he could recall was how special it felt to play Matchbox cars with him, how much he looked forward to seeing him every day, and how heartbroken he was when he spent time with Mike Chang instead. He wondered if Mike might know anything about where he ended up.

"Facebook," she suggested, licking the popsicle stick clean of chocolate. "Anyway. Do I need to ask you your intentions toward my brother or what?"

He laughed, surprised. "Uh. I don't think we really have any intentions. We've only been doing this for, what, a month?" _Twenty-two days, but who's counting?_

She gave him a withering look. "Please. I'm not stupid, and I know Noah."

Dave let out his breath slowly. "Well... I was thinking about his birthday... I have some plans..."

"Bigger picture, dude." She snapped her fingers. "Come on, what about next year? After that? Noah's got plans, you know. You'd better figure out a way to make them work with yours."

"You guys and your long-range vision," he said, blinking. "Jesus. Well, okay... um, I have some ideas, but they kind of depend on P- _Noah's_ willingness to take the SAT again. And if he'll let me tutor him. And if he's going to kick my ass for what I'm planning for his birthday."

"He probably will," she said, grinning. "Okay, that sounds good. What's this about the SAT? He took it last year."

"Yeah, but he's fighting against those bad grades from freshman and sophomore year. If he can take it again and get better scores this time, he's got a better chance of getting into the schools he wants, even with a low grade point." He looked at her curiously, scraping the last of the yogurt out of his cup. "Why do you care about this stuff, anyway?"

She tossed the stick in the garbage. "Noah and me, we take care of each other. My Ma's never really been much help. My dad took off when I was pretty young. So it's just been the two of us." Her gaze was fierce. "He's happy. Like, _really_ happy. So I'm just checking, to make sure you don't have any plans to bail on him or anything."

"No," he said. "No plans like that."

"Good." She hopped down from her chair and yawned. "I'll see you in the morning. I can make pretty good pancakes."

"I've got to have breakfast with my dad," he said. "It's kind of our thing."

"Mmm." He thought she was done, but then she said, "You should bring Noah with you. He's good with parents."

_Not with mine,_ he wanted to say, but he nodded. "I'll give it a try sometime."

"Dave?"

He turned to see her by the door. For a minute she just looked like a little sister, not like the badass protectress or the surrogate mother. "You... really love him, right?"

"Yeah," he said. "I really do."

She nodded. "That's good. He really needs that."

"Me, too," said Dave. _More than I could ever explain. _


	12. Chapter 12

_(Author's note: in all my 'verses, Puck's birthday is July 12, which is my son's birthday. I haven't found anything in canon to disagree with it, so I'm sticking to it. Enjoy. -amy)_

* * *

><p>It was too hot outside for lunch today, even after their usual dip in the pool, so Puck had put together "some nosh" in the Underwood's kitchen. The Underwood family was in Colorado Springs, and from the crucifixes displayed around the house and the squeaky-clean pictures on their walls, Dave guessed it had something to do with Focus on the Family. It made what Puck and Dave had done in their pool that morning all that more perverse.<p>

Puck had never heard of Focus on the Family. He was perplexed when Dave explained about the conservative Christian organization. "See, we just don't _have_ Jews like that," Puck said, lining the olives up on his plate. "The most conservative Jews just like to wear long beards, and won't eat milk and meat together. We don't try to run other people's lives, or take over the White House or anything like that."

"It's because the Jews already run the White House," Dave said. The joke was weak, and he knew it, but he was distracted, thinking about how the afternoon was going to go. He poked at his hummos with a carrot stick.

"You should come to synagogue with me sometime," said Puck. "It's on Saturday, so you could still go to church on Sunday."

Dave broke a carrot stick in half. "I don't speak Hebrew."

"There's always a translation. Half the congregation doesn't either." Puck suddenly looked concerned. "Huh. I wonder."

"What?"

"Well, kids are Jewish if their moms are Jewish. What do you do if you've got two dads?"

Dave felt a funny tumbling sensation in his stomach, like somewhere along this lunch he'd managed to eat a washing machine. "You… think you might want to have kids someday?"

"Dude," said Puck, softly. "I do have a kid, already. But yeah, I'd like to have some, once I'm settled somewhere. My dad, I think he was a sucky parent because he didn't have any kind of stable anything. He just wanted to rock out with his friends, but he never had a good job or any kind of prospects. I want to wait until I know what the hell I'm doing with my life."

Dave thought about his dad, becoming a single parent suddenly when Dave was three, and how hard that must have been. He hadn't really thought before about how much work it had taken for his dad to deal with Dave, with school conferences and playdates and making three meals a day and getting him to doctor's appointments and buying him shoes and _everything. _"Jesus." He chewed on an olive thoughtfully. "I don't think I could be a parent yet."

"I know I couldn't," Puck said with feeling. "I mean, I get to see Beth every now and then, but there's no way I could do it full time. I'm going to be way too busy figuring out how to pass English and still have time to fuck my boyfriend every day."

The phrase made Dave lean back in his chair and take a deep breath, but he smiled. "I'm happy to help you with that stuff," said Dave. "I could tutor you."

A line appeared on Puck's forehead between his eyes, one that Dave was starting to recognize. It was the stubborn-line, the one that said _Leave me alone and fuck you for trying to help._ "Not that you couldn't do it on your own," Dave added hastily. "I'm just saying…"

"No," said Puck, with a sigh. "I can't do it on my own. I can't. I haven't ever been able to before, anyway. I just hate feeling stupid."

Dave leaned across the table and captured Puck's restless hand with his. "You're not even a little bit stupid," he said. "Some people are just better at school than others. Don't beat yourself up over that. But let me help."

Puck and his stubborn-line put the hummos in the fridge and got out the iced tea Dave had made that morning. Dave sat there, thinking, and when Puck sat back down, he said, "You know, I'm good at school _now_, but I wasn't always."

"Yeah?" Puck sounded more suspicious than interested, but Dave soldiered on.

"When I was in third grade my dad made the schools do all these tests on me because I wasn't doing any writing. Like, none. I was a good reader, but I hated writing. My teachers would try to make me write but I refused, and I was a pretty good kid when it came to doing what the teachers told me to do."

Now Puck was listening. "So what happened?" he asked.

Dave shrugged. "Turns out I've got a processing disability. Like, my brain is really slow at converting words in my head into written words."

"But you're a good writer," Puck said. "I mean, I'm guessing you are. They don't give A's to kids who are bad at writing."

"Yeah, because I use my laptop," Dave said. "Just about everything I write, I do on the computer. It bypasses the problems in my brain and makes it easy. I still have trouble when I have to write by hand. But because they figured out what was wrong early on, I get permission to type my essay exams and stuff."

Puck thought about that. "I don't think they ever did any kind of tests like that for me."

"My dad really had to push for it, come to all these meetings. But you can ask Miss Pillsbury. I bet she'd help you, if you wanted to find out if you had a disability."

"I don't know," Puck said quietly. He looked at his hands. "I think I'm freaked out about even _asking_ those questions because… because what if you help me, and she helps me, and I _still_ can't do it? Then I'm really going to feel like an idiot."

Dave took Puck's hand again. "You know Albert Einstein? Big smart guy?"

Puck rolled his eyes. "Dude."

"Yeah, well, he was pretty dumb about a lot of things. He didn't talk until he was, like, three years old. _And_ he failed his college entrance exam the first time he took it." He grinned. "He once claimed that everybody is a genius, but if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it'll live its whole life believing that it is stupid."

"Heh." Puck grinned back. "That's kind of awesome."

"Yeah. Look at how smart you are with music. There's no way I could do that stuff. Just because I'm good at book stuff, I get good grades, I'm smart on tests – that helps me get ahead in the world more. It's not fair, but it's the way things are. But I had a dad that really pushed for help for me, early on, when things were hard for me in school. I bet if nobody had advocated for me, I would still think I was stupid for not being able to write."

Puck ran his fingertips over the back of Dave's hand, and Dave felt it in his cock. Anywhere Puck touched him ended up there, anyway, sooner or later. "You really think you could help me?"

"Yes," said Dave. "Absolutely. Plus it would give me an excuse to see you every day after school."

"Hey, yeah," Puck said, brightening. "Okay, I'm totally in."

Dave finished cleaning up from lunch while Puck got ready to go back to work. He watched him move around the Underwood's kitchen, feeling a great sense of peace and rightness in the domesticity of their interactions. It was the weirdest thing, but he savored it, their time together. He thought ahead to fall, how this piece of their life was going to be entirely missing when they went back to their ordinary lives at school, and he already felt a stabbing sensation of loss, even though they still had a whole month of summer vacation left. _Maybe we can replace our lunch dates with study-and-dinner dates,_ he thought.

He grabbed Puck in a hug before he left. "I'm coming to pick you up at two-thirty, right?"

"I'll be ready," said Puck, kissing him. "You're not going to tell me what this is all about?"

Dave shook his head. "It's a birthday surprise. You'll know pretty soon."

* * *

><p>Puck hated surprises, but he went along with Dave's plan because he was clearly excited about whatever it was. He loved seeing Dave excited about something; it just made his whole fucking face light up. He put on his best sports jacket and an awesome shirt with no tie, and Dave looked a little stunned when he saw him.<p>

"How hot am I," he whispered into Dave's ear when he kissed him in the car.

"God," Dave said, his face flushing. "You're pretty fucking hot. You have both guitars?"

"In the back," said Puck. "You're not going to tell me why, though."

"Nope."

Dave drove him downtown to an office building he'd never been to before, and they parked and got out, each of them carrying a guitar case. "What is this?" he said, glancing up at the multi-storied structure as they pushed through the front doors.

"You'll see," said Dave.

"You're such a tease." Puck watched him push the elevator button for the fourth floor. "See if I put out later for _you."_

He was surprised to see Mark in the reception area of the office they ended up at. "Hey, Puck," said Mark, offering his hand. "How's it going? Happy birthday."

Puck shook it with bemusement. "How do you… okay, what's going on here?"

"Come on back, guys," Mark said, and they followed him into a room with a window, behind which was a sound board and equipment of all kinds. The room had a few stools and a drum kit, and two surprisingly familiar faces.

"David told us you needed backup," said Finn, at Puck's querying look. "And a drummer."

Kurt shrugged. "Don't ask me. I'm as much in the dark as you."

"That girl from your open mic is coming, too," Dave said, "the one who played piano and sang with you on that song you wrote. I think that's everybody."

"Dave," Puck said through gritted teeth, "I'm going to fucking strangle you with this microphone cord if you don't tell me what we're doing here."

Dave gave him a tentative smile. "Okay, but you might strangle me anyway." He gestured at the window, where Mark was setting up the sound board. "You told me studio time was too expensive to record your songs. Well, I got some for cheap. And some studio musicians to boot."

Puck stared at Finn, who was smiling his face off, then at Mark, who gave him a thumbs up through the window. "What?"

"Mark's going to help you put together a CD," said Dave.

Puck grabbed Dave by the elbow and hauled him out into the hallway. "Just a sec, okay, guys?" he called back to the startled group. He propelled him all the way to the stairwell.

"It's not that bad, is it?" Dave said uneasily.

Puck slammed Dave up against the wall. "You got me fucking _studio time?"_ he hissed.

"Uh… maybe?"

Puck's mouth met Dave's in a blistering kiss, his body plastered up against Dave's like he was trying to merge with him through their clothes. "You are the most awesome boyfriend on the face of the earth," he panted. "I'm just pissed that I can't take you home right now and show you how much I appreciate it."

"Later, baby," said Dave, his smile relieved. "Our night's just getting started."

Dave seemed more than happy to sit in the sound booth with Mark and ask him a million questions about the recording process while Puck, Finn, Kurt and Nicole (the piano player from the open mic) discussed their setlist. Puck pored through his notebooks to find all the pieces he thought were up to snuff for recording.

"I have one that's pretty new," he said, quietly, so Dave wouldn't hear, "but I don't want Dave to hear it yet. Maybe we can get him to go out in the hallway while we record?"

"I'll find some way to distract him," said Finn.

"Why doesn't _my_ boyfriend get me studio time for _my_ birthday?" Kurt complained, gingerly setting the headset and mic over his hair.

Puck showed Mark the list of possible cover songs he'd considered recording, and they cleared and paid for the ones chose using an online service. "$65 to get permission to use _Only the Good Die Young?"_ he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, that's including a hundred copies of the CD, and a hundred digital downloads," said Mark. "You'll have to buy more later, if you want to increase your distribution, but it's not too expensive."

It took them the better part of the afternoon and into the evening to record six songs. "Dude," said Puck, running a hand over his head, "this is a lot of work. Thanks for sticking it out."

Dave just kept smiling and calling to change their dinner reservation. "I think they're going to hang up on me the next time I call," he said.

"You should just go to dinner without me," said Puck, but Dave shook his head emphatically.

"No way, man. Birthday dinner is a big deal in my house. You're stuck with me."

It was after eight by the time they had something Mark was happy with. He waved them on out of the building. "I ordered pizza for myself," he said, "and my wife knows I'm coming home late. This is the part I absolutely adore – the post-processing. I'm going to have a freaking ball with it."

Puck gave Mark a huge hug, surprising him. "Thanks – this is the best present."

"I'm just happy to see you guys together," said Mark with a smile. "That's kind of a present, too."

They went for dinner to Casa Lu Al, and Dave didn't even seem bothered by the idea of eating at a table alone with Puck while wearing a sport jacket. "You know people are watching us and probably assuming we're out on a date," Puck said, looking around the restaurant for people he knew.

"Yeah," Dave said. "Well, we are. I guess we've got to start somewhere."

Puck thought about that day in the Lapeer's pool, that day when they _did_ start – or, more accurately, the day before that, when he saw Dave swimming, and all he could think was _Dave Karofsky has got to be the hottest fucking guy I've ever seen. _He knew he wasn't going to let it alone, not with the possibility of spending the summer having hot sex with Dave every freaking day. Giving him access to the pools had been an easy offer. _Of course, I had no idea things would turn out the way they have._

He smiled across the table at Dave, trying not to be too obvious, because this was _Lima,_ after all, and people were just stupid. But then Dave took a gift-wrapped package out from under the table and set it in front of Puck with a smile, and then _another_ one, and Puck just sat there with a stunned expression.

"Happy birthday," he said.

"Uh…" Puck eyed the packages uncertainly, scratching his head. "I thought the studio time…?"

"Yeah," said Dave. "But I already bought these things, and I didn't want to take them back. Humor me, okay?"

Puck wasn't sure how to say the next thing without sounding fucking greedy, but he just went ahead anyway. "Nobody's ever bought me presents before."

"Cool." Dave's eyes gleamed. "At least I get to be first with you at _something._"

Puck ripped into the smaller and flatter of the two packages and found himself holding a book. "SAT Prep?"

"You need to take it again," said Dave. "I'm going to coach you through it, and this time you're going to kick ass. It'll give you more school options."

"Uh, okay," said Puck, flipping through the book. "Dude, I think this wins for most depressing present ever."

Dave laughed, leaning back in his chair. "Sorry. Hopefully the other one will make up for it."

Puck tore the paper off one corner of the large squarish box, and as soon as he saw the picture of the Enterprise NCC-1701-D, he felt his cheeks split in a huge grin. "Fucking A!" he cried, drawing displeased stares from nearby tables. "This is fantastic!"

"I wasn't sure if you already had the DVDs," he said, "but I didn't see them at your house."

"No," he breathed. He turned the box over, trying not to notice the price, and failing. "I… Dave, this cost a lot of money."

"I got it used," he said, shrugging. "Don't worry about that. Anyway, it's just money. I can't think of anything else I'd rather spend my money on."

Puck grimaced. The statement was so foreign, so casual, that Puck almost felt offended. He wondered if Dave was expecting _him_ to spend all that money on him. He'd never had much money to spend. "Well, thanks," he concluded weakly.

"You're welcome," said Dave. "Do I get to watch them with you?"

Now he couldn't help but smile. "As long as we can skip the stupid-ass pilot," he said.

Dinner wound down into dessert, and Puck was glad Dave hadn't told their waitress it was his birthday, because they would have sung him that horrible song, the one with the clapping, and he would have had to punch somebody. But instead there was just awesome carrot cake with hot cream cheese icing, and the piece was huge enough that they were both eating it, and swordfighting with their forks, and then –

"Puck?"

It was Mr. Schuester and Miss Pillsbury, of all the fucking people to run into, looking puzzled and a little taken aback to see him sitting there with Dave Karofsky. Suddenly Puck felt ridiculously protective of Dave, which was _so_ stupid, considering Dave could have easily taken him, and Dave was the one with all A's and prom king and everything. But there it was.

"Hey, Mr. Schue, Miss P." He smiled at them, giving them some of that charisma that Dave had been so sure he had. It was the funniest thing, Dave's confidence in him, maybe even more confidence than he had about himself. He watched Dave watching him, but he didn't look anxious.

"Hello, Puck, Dave," said Miss P. Her smile was uncertain, and she glanced between the two of them, as though trying to figure it out. "How's your summer going?"

"Great," they said together, and they laughed, avoiding eye contact. _Oh, yeah, this isn't suspicious._

"It's Puck's birthday," said Dave.

Mr. Schue smiled at Puck. "Happy birthday, man. Eighteen, huh?"

"Yeah," he said. That was about as far as they could go without getting personal, so he asked, "Your summer going good?"

"It's going well, thanks," said Mr. Schue. He cast a glance at Miss P, and she flushed prettily. "Uh…"

"Cool," said Puck, nodding. "Hey, Miss P, I want to take the SAT again. Dave's going to tutor me." He showed her the book. She leaned over, exclaiming happy counselor-ish things. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Mr. Schue considering Dave, who looked like he might want to disappear behind the potted plant in the corner.

"You look good, Dave," said Mr. Schue.

"Thanks," he said softly. "I've been swimming all summer."

"I mean, you look happy."

It was Dave's turn to blush, but he managed it without too much trouble. "Yeah, I am."

"Huh," said Mr. Schue.

As they turned to go, Mr. Schue reached out and put a hand on Puck's shoulder. "Have a good rest of the summer. I'm… I'm happy for you."

"Thanks, Mr. Schue," Puck said, nodding to Miss P. "You, too."

He waved as they left. "You think he'll tell everybody?" Dave said.

"Not Mr. Schue," said Puck doubtfully. "Who's he going to tell? I think you'll have more gossip from Rachel."

Dave paid for dinner, and Puck didn't look at the bill. He really didn't think he wanted to know. He carried his too-expensive DVD set and his depressing SAT prep book back to Dave's car, thinking all the way. By the time he sat down in the passenger seat, he thought he knew what was bothering him.

"So you're working this summer, too," said Puck. "We're both earning money. But mine all has to go into this account, for college, but you – you won't need to pay for college. Right?"

Dave nodded reluctantly, but Puck shook his head. "No, it's fine. You're paying your way with your brains; I'll be paying mine with my labor. It's okay."

"Okay," said Dave warily.

"Yeah, so the money you earn, you can spend on whatever you want, right?"

Dave started the car. "Within reason. I think my dad would be pissed if I wanted to buy, like, five hundred dollars worth of chocolate?" Puck laughed. "But yeah, it's my money. I can do what I want with it."

"Uh-huh. But I _can't._ I can't spend it on chocolate, or anything, really. And so – I guess I'm annoyed, because… because I want to spend it on _you."_

Dave was silent, driving through the July night, the air conditioning making a faint hum. "I don't really need anything," he said at last.

"Yeah, and you think I need the Next Gen DVD box set?"

"I told you, I got it used," Dave protested.

"Okay, okay. Whatever. And the studio time? Did I need that?"

"_Yes,"_ Dave insisted. "You did, man. Your song, for me – it was good, like, _really_ good. You need to get yourself out there, make yourself heard. Now you've got this recording, or you will, soon. You can start distribution, get your fucking awesome marketing engine in gear, you know, send it to recording studios, get someone to distribute –" He stopped. "What?"

Puck looked out over the dashboard. "Where the fuck are we?"

"Motel 6," said Dave, gruffly.

"Dude," said Puck, "I could have –"

"I know," Dave cut him off. He reached for Puck's hand. "You said you'd humor me."

"A motel's kind of - you know."

"Tawdry?" Dave suggested.

"What the fuck is that? I was going to say kinky."

He laughed quietly. Then, into the dark, he said, "I need to spend the night with you."

Puck had no answer for that except to get his guitars out of the car and bring them inside, because they sure as fuck weren't going to stay in the car at the Motel 6.

When Dave had paid (how did he get a _credit card?)_ and they'd found their room, Puck realized something. "What about your dad? My Ma?"

"My dad thinks I'm at Z's. He won't call him – I think he's secretly racist. Your Ma thinks you're at Finn's, and he's covering for us."

Puck had to laugh. "You're setting up my booty calls with my best friend?"

"Yeah," said Dave, and his face looked so serious Puck couldn't laugh anymore.

Puck set his guitars down by the wall and sat on the king-sized bed. Dave sat next to him. They didn't bother to turn the lights on.

"Happy birthday, Noah," he said, taking his hand.

The shiver that ran down his body took him by surprise. "Ninja feelings," he murmured, and leaned in to meet Dave's kiss on its way over. Dave's hand on his face felt like home. There was no hurry, no need to rush tonight, and they shed their clothes almost casually, but there was nothing casual in the way Dave was treating him. He felt _cherished._

Sliding under the covers, their limbs touching, was delicious and familiar and completely perfect, and any words would have been inadequate, so Puck just kept quiet until Dave settled himself between Puck's legs, spreading them wide, and took his cock in his mouth.

"Dave," he whispered, feeling the name on his lips, and said it again, just to appreciate the amazement of it: "Dave."

He heard a chuckle, felt it ripple on his skin, and closed his eyes, luxuriating in the sensation of being loved by Dave's mouth, his hands. When he would have asked for Dave to do more, Dave was already there, slick fingers pressing into him, giving him just enough slippery stretch before his cock replaced them, making Puck groan in complete satisfaction. _That was the best part,_ thought Puck, opening his legs wider, taking him as deep as he could get, feeling the intensity building slowly. He wanted it to last, but the best part was that first smooth penetration, the thing he wanted from Dave more than fucking anything.

"Noah," he said, and Puck heard the strain in his voice, far more than he would have expected from Dave's slow pace.

"You okay, baby?" he asked, reaching for him. Dave settled down on top of him, and Puck thought, _No, wait, that's the best part, _Dave's body on top of him, the pressure and friction and weight of him, never too much, never enough.

"I said I wanted to give you something," he said.

"You did," Puck said, holding him closer with the curve of his hand, rocking up against him.

"No, I didn't," said Dave. "I didn't give you that thing. I wanted to – I wanted to –" He sighed, a sad sound.

"What?"

"I wanted to be – out, with you, tonight. I wanted to kiss you, in the restaurant."

"Oh," said Puck.

"But then Miss Pillsbury and Mr. Schuester were there, and I – it just caught me off guard, I wasn't… fuck, Noah, I just wanted to give you that."

"It's okay, I got it," he said, and he felt Dave's disappointment in himself. He didn't want Dave to feel that, not at all, not when… "Don't you know how much you give me?"

"It doesn't feel like enough," Dave said, gathering him up into his big arms. Puck felt absurdly small when he did that, but it was kind of nice, because it had been a while since he'd been the small one in the equation. He could lose himself in Dave's embrace in a way he didn't think he'd _ever _experienced.

"It's the best thing in my life," Puck said, and he felt Dave's shocked response through his hips, into his ass, and he cried out at the intensity of the thrusts. "Come on, Dave, I need _this,_ I don't need any of your stuff or your money, I just need… _this_… every day."

Puck felt Dave shuddering, and Puck tucked a hand down to stroke himself to orgasm, delighting yet again in the _fucking incredible_ sensation of Dave coming inside him, and he had to admit, _No, wait, this is definitely the best part._

"God, Noah," Dave said, hoarsely, through the aftershocks, trembling as he curled into his body. "God, I need this, too. I need you so fucking much."

They stayed wrapped up in each other, because there was no reason not to, and neither one cared too much about a little wet sheets, until they fell asleep.

When Puck woke up in the morning, he couldn't quite figure out where the smell was coming from, but it lured him fully awake – and he had to laugh. "Dave?" he said, rubbing his eyes. "What is this?"

"Breakfast," Dave said, proudly. "Check it out. Your boyfriend delivers yet again."

Puck reached out to the proffered plate and broke off a corner of the steaming Pop-Tart. "Blueberry frosted," he said with admiration. "My favorite."

"I know," said Dave. "Sarah told me."

Puck wondered if _this_ could count as the best part, and he leaned in for a kiss.

* * *

><p><span>.comwatch?v=mY2VW3cVWEw

_There's a flickering light bouncing off the table into your eyes  
><em>_And I can't help but wanna catch it  
><em>_And when you fold me in your arms  
><em>_And dump your soul onto my back  
><em>_All the noises in my head stop to listen  
><em>_to my heart, stretching out  
><em>_Oh, I'm giving in  
><em>_Look at this love of ours  
><em>_Oh, I do believe we're settling in_

_Come on in honey the deep end is calling  
><em>_Touch your toes now and spring back up  
><em>_I'm gonna promise in all your loving  
><em>_So come on come on baby  
><em>_Never give up_

_Without a warning you walked right in  
><em>_Sat yourself inside me and ordered a beer  
><em>_Never before has it been so easy  
><em>_to just lay still and let somebody see me  
><em>_My heart is stretching out  
><em>_Look at me, I'm giving in  
><em>_Oh, this little love of ours  
><em>_I do believe we're settling in_

_The first week was like a month stranded on an island  
><em>_Nothing at all but our bodies talking  
><em>_And when I came up for air  
><em>_All the world was there  
><em>_And it is raining in our love's honor  
><em>_Stretching out  
><em>_Oh look at me, I'm giving in  
><em>_Oh, it's raining in our love's honor_

_Come on in honey the deep end is calling  
><em>_Touch your toes now and spring back up  
><em>_I'm gonna promise in all your loving  
><em>_So come on come on baby  
><em>_Never give up_

_- Melissa Ferrick_


	13. Chapter 13

The Underwoods came back from Colorado Springs nine days later, but Puck's client list was long and varied, and he was able to get Dave a Monday through Friday list of pools without owners at home. After that, it just made more sense for Dave to come with Puck to his morning clients, rather than try to time things exactly right so Puck was there at the same time as Dave. He didn't mind at all, and though Dave remembered Puck's objection to him helping out earlier in the summer, that seemed to have disappeared in the face of being able to spend every morning together.

The first day Dave came to pick Puck up at home in the morning, he waited out in the driveway. "Why didn't you come to the door?" Puck asked as he climbed into the Subaru.

"I wasn't sure if your Ma would be at home." Dave poked Puck in the arm. "Come on, aren't you going to show me?"

Puck's grin was enormous, but he played dumb. "I don't know what you could be talking about. Hmmm. Could you be referring to the SAT application I received in the mail yesterday?"

"No, smartass, but we can fill that out before lunch. Dude. Do I need to pull this car over right now?"

"I don't think it happens to be moving," Puck said, glancing around himself. "Oh, perhaps you're talking about this very cool shirt I happened to swipe off the floor of my boyfriend's room? Because I definitely think it looks better on _me."_

"You're an insufferable shit, Puckerman," Dave declared, pulling out of the driveway.

Puck grinned out the window, and slid two pieces of cardstock from his pocket. "Oh, oh, I know. You must be referring to the tickets I got to the Journey concert in Columbus on August 5th?"

"No, come _on, _you _know_ what I – what?" Dave paused, easing the brake down, and stopped in the middle of the street. Puck cackled and held the tickets outside of Dave's reach, fending him off with one muscled arm. "Holy shit, _really_?"

"Ah, _now_ he listens," Puck said. "You and me and some eighties rock, man. They're playing in Crew Stadium, along with Foreigner and Night Ranger."

"That's – that's fucking _awesome."_ Dave finally managed to snatch the tickets from Puck's hand and peered at them. "What happened to not spending any of your money? These weren't free."

"Birthday money from my Nana. I'm not totally poor, you know." Puck sounded a little edgier than usual, and Dave knew he'd crossed a line. He smiled at him in apology, then grabbed his face and kissed him until Puck was calm and happy again.

"This is so cool," Dave said in a softer voice, against Puck's cheek. "Thank you. But – that's still not what I was talking about. Come on, don't you have it?"

Puck took his damn sweet time patting the pockets of his shorts, and of _course_ there wasn't anything hiding in there, because they were practically shoehorned on to his body, and even the box of Tic-Tacs made an obvious bulge in his pocket, and Dave was _not_ staring at the other thing that made a bulge because otherwise they were never going to get to work. Eventually, though, Puck got tired of his own joke, and he pulled the CD out from where he had it hiding beside the seat, passing it to Dave. "You're going to make me listen to it, aren't you?"

"Fuck _yeah,_ I'm going to make you listen to it," Dave breathed, holding it up to the light and watching it sparkle in the sun. "This is your work, baby. It's your opus. You get to look back and say, 'That was my first CD.'"

Puck was shaking his head and turning pink, but he was laughing, too. "You are such a spaz, Karofsky. Who would have expected you to be so fucking sentimental?"

_Only where nobody can see, _Dave thought, smiling, and slid the CD into the player. _Only when it's just us. I can be anything I want to be, then._

Dave could tell Puck was proud, even through his embarrassment at being asked to sit through the recording. The first track was that Chris Isaak song he'd sung for Dave, before Dave had ever expected any of the songs could be for him - before he knew what was really going on in Puck's heart.

He wished they could just sit and listen, rather than having to go to work, but Puck was adamant. "If we don't go now, we'll throw the whole schedule off," he said. "You can have this copy for your car and listen to it whenever you fucking want. I've got 99 more."

"Who did the cover?" Dave asked, under a flush of appreciation for Puck's generous gesture. _I got the first copy._ I_ did. _ It wouldn't have mattered in the end which CD Puck had given him, but there was something special about having the very first one.

"Somebody Mark knows took the picture. It's not a bad shot." Puck and Dave both examined the likeness of Puck sitting with his guitar against a wall, looking pensive. "I don't look too brooding, do I?"

"Not the word I would have chosen, no," Dave said, glancing at Puck in amusement. "And since when do you fish for compliments?"

"I want one of those awesome Roger Dean paintings on my next album cover," Puck said, clearly not planning to answer the question. He squirmed a little in his seat. "Fuck. It's hard to hear all the mistakes and not sit here and point them out to you."

"What mistakes?"

Puck grinned. "Exactly. You'd never hear them if I didn't say anything."

Dave pulled into the driveway of their first client, the Brann family. Their pool was a little short for good laps, but he wasn't complaining. Dave had a set of cardio exercises he could do in the water that would produce the same heart rate, if not the same muscle workout, as his usual lap routine, and coupled that with a couple miles around the block. Running was starting to feel pretty okay to Dave; he wasn't sure he'd ever feel comfortable doing it with his shirt off, but he didn't feel so self-conscious about the random movements jogging produced in his body as he had six weeks ago.

He helped Puck get the equipment out – he knew the routine now as well as Puck, or Sarah, who sometimes came along to help when Puck had more clients than they could handle in a day – before he went into the bathroom to change. Their scale wasn't as accurate as his own, Dave could tell, because he definitely hadn't lost three additional pounds since yesterday. It was a nice thought, though, and Dave spent one completely indulgent minute in front of the mirror, not feeling too bad about what he was seeing.

Then he heard something fall, heard Puck swearing, and then a tremendous clattering. Then silence.

Dave's heart constricted, like someone had grabbed it in a giant fist and _squeezed,_ and he was out the door and down the hall, yelling, "Puck – what happened? Where are you?" into the ghastly silence for what seemed like hours. It was probably only about thirty seconds in retrospect, but time had slowed to a slithering slug's pace. With every door Dave opened and didn't find Puck there, he could feel the panic rising up in to his throat.

"Puck – come on, man, what the fuck is going on?"

The last door was the basement, and Dave snapped the light on to see Puck crumpled on the floor at the bottom of the staircase, motionless and half-covered with flowerpots. "Shit," he whimpered, hurrying down the stairs to the bottom, and crouched beside him, touching his shoulder gingerly. There was blood, but Dave couldn't tell exactly where it was coming from, and there didn't seem to be much of it. He checked Puck's pulse with two fingers on his neck, and it was strong and rapid.

"Baby," he said urgently into Puck's ear. "Come on." Then, a little louder, "Puck. Are you okay?"

It was another couple horrible, tense moments before Puck groaned and shifted on the floor, and Dave found himself having to lean back on the wooden railing for another moment in head-pounding relief, thinking _thank you, God._ Then he moved some of the flowerpots off Puck's back and chest, brushing dirt and broken clay off his shirt. "Are you okay?" he asked again, somewhat desperately.

"Uhhh," Puck said, rolling his head to one side and wincing. "Dave."

"Dude, you fell down the stairs," said Dave, glancing up at the top of the staircase, and he saw where the railing had pulled away from the wall, drywall-covered screw brackets dangling. "Don't try to sit up. I'm going to call 911."

He had to run upstairs to check the street address of the Brann's house before calling for an ambulance. He didn't hesitate to use the word _friend,_ because Puck _was,_ he was his fucking best friend, and he wasn't thinking with his tongue or his dick here, he was just thinking how horrible it was that Puck was lying on the cement floor of somebody else's basement with blood on his head and his arm and his breath coming slow and his skin pale.

"Hang in there," he said, leaning close, stroking Puck's forehead. "They're sending someone. You're going to be okay. Does it hurt?"

"My head," Puck said, and Dave stopped touching him, running his hands over his thighs in frustration. _Shit. _

"I'm calling your mother," he said, and it was definitely indicative of how Puck was feeling that he didn't say one word about it.

Puck's Ma was a nurse at St. Rita's. It took three different connections and several repetitions of "Mrs. Puckerman, please?" before Puck shifted and said, "Ruth."

"Ruth Puckerman," Dave said into the phone. "Her son's been in an accident."

"Dude, I'm fine," Puck said, opening his eyes, but he didn't look at all fine.

"I don't think you should move," Dave cautioned, feeling sick and stupid. Why hadn't he taken first aid again that summer? He couldn't remember which thing to do when. _What kind of a fucking Eagle Scout am I?_ He reached out to touch Puck's head again, but hesitated, not wanting to cause more pain, and ended up putting a hand on Puck's shoulder instead.

"This is Ruth," said the voice on the phone. She sounded no-nonsense, not that he'd expected less from Puck's Ma.

"Mrs. Puckerman, this is Dave Karofsky," he said. "I'm your son's – I'm working with Puck at the Brann's house, helping with the pool."

"Dave," she said, and he thought she might be smiling. "Puck told me about you."

He set aside that piece of startling information for a moment. "Puck's been – he fell down the stairs and hit his head. I called 911. He's okay, but I can't tell –"

"Oh my god," she said. "Is he conscious?"

"Yeah, he's talking. Do you want to talk to him?"

She sounded remarkably calm. "If you don't mind." Dave held the phone up to his face. There was a little sweat on his lip, and when Dave brushed it away, his skin was chilly, but he wasn't sure if it was because of the cold basement or not.

"Hey, Ma," he said. "No, I'm okay. Dave's not gonna let me freak out." He licked his lips and swallowed with difficulty. "Totally stupid. I slipped. My – my head. And my foot hurts."

Dave moved more of the six bazillion broken flower pots away from Puck's leg, and winced at the spectacular contusion on his ankle. It was already starting to swell. "I'm going to get some ice for that," he said, but Puck reached out a hand and gripped Dave's, stronger than Dave would have expected him to be able to.

"Stay," he begged. "I'm all right, just – stay." Dave stayed. Into the phone, he said, "Okay. Thanks, Ma. I'll see you there."

"I'll meet you guys at the emergency room," she said to Dave when he retrieved his phone. "Just keep him awake. Thanks for being there, Dave."

"Sure," he said, wondering what she knew, and hung up.

He shouted up the stairs, "We're down here," when he heard a voice call, "911, what's the nature of the emergency?" He moved to the side while the two EMTs checked Puck's vitals and asked him questions like who he was and what his birthday was and did he have any allergies to medications (no) and what his blood type was (A positive) and was there any medical information they should know.

"I have asthma," said Puck as they moved each part of him carefully. Dave blinked, and Puck turned his head to look at him in surprise. "It doesn't really affect me anymore. I have an inhaler in the car and I carry one in my backpack at school. I think I used it, like, four times last year."

"Good to know," Dave said, reaching for Puck's hand, lacing their fingers together. One of the EMTs paused. The expression on his face was one of confusion – then clear disgust. It was only a moment before he schooled it back to neutral, but neither one of them missed it. Dave tried to pull his hand away, but Puck held fast.

"What the fuck was that?" Puck said, and even with a neck collar on and skin pale as summer sand, he looked dangerous and badass. Dave watched him struggle to sit up, and both EMTs were on him, keeping him still. He glared at the one who'd made the face. "What do you care what kind of fucking thing we do in bed together?"

"Sorry," the man muttered, and he was red. "You two just don't look -"

"Don't worry about it," Dave said, suddenly self-conscious. "Just take care of him. Puck, I'm going upstairs to get my shirt. Should I follow behind you guys?"

"We'll go to St. Mary's," said the woman. "You can come in the ambulance if you want." She shot an annoyed look at her partner.

"No, I'd better bring my car. But thanks." He didn't touch Puck again, but he said, "You'll be okay."

"Of course I'll be fucking okay," Puck grumbled. "I just slipped."

Dave retrieved his shirt and changed into his shorts. They had Puck on a stretcher and were loading him into the ambulance by the time he came outside. Two little kids on their tricycles were watching with wide eyes as they closed the doors.

"Is he going to die?" said one little kid.

"No," he muttered. "He- he's fine." Dave knew he was, but he still found himself shaking and sick to his stomach as he started the car.

It was a little strange to listen to the CD without Puck there, hearing his voice but not knowing exactly when he'd see him again. The second track was the song about The Devil in Me, in which Puck had used the slide steel during the first open mic performance. Track three, Only the Good Die Young, played while the ambulance led Dave across town. Track four was the song Puck had written for Dave, which turned out to be called The Best of You, and it made him ache inside to hear it again. Dave hadn't heard track five before; it was a song that seemed to be about swimming in the ocean called Beautiful World, but he didn't really pay much attention to it, because he was starting to feel anxious. What about Puck's head? Did he have a concussion? He hadn't been awake right away.

He had to stop it halfway through the song, promising himself he'd get to track six as soon as possible, and hurried into the emergency's waiting room. "I'm here for Noah Puckerman," he told the woman at the receptionist desk, and she instructed him to sit in the chair on the wall and wait until she called him.

He sat there, jiggling his leg and staring at the wall, trying not to think about the look on the EMT's face when he'd looked at the two of them holding hands. He'd known to expect it, he knew it was sometimes going to be _like_ that, but it was still an awful feeling to experience it, right in his face, someone personally disgusted by the action that had come so naturally to him that it hadn't even occurred to him not to do it. It wasn't as though he was making out with him in public, right?

"Dave?"

He looked up. The woman watching him anxiously could have been Sarah, sent forward in time twenty years, and he felt his brow smooth as he smiled at her without even thinking about it. "You must be Puck's mother," he said. "You look just like Sarah."

"I recognized you from your picture," she said, and touched his fingers. It felt just as natural to take her hand as it had to hold Puck's. He felt a hot rush of embarrassment at the idea of Puck's Ma seeing the pictures Kurt had taken of them. "He sounded all right on the phone."

He nodded. "Yeah. They haven't come out to tell me what's up, but he seemed okay when they took him on the ambulance. I don't know what happened, exactly, but he was heading down the staircase and the railing pulled out of the wall. Just bad luck, I think."

She sat down next to him on the bench and looked around distractedly, sighing. "Noah's never had the best of luck."

Dave's lips twitched at the sound of the name _Noah. _He sat and waited, and she sat and waited, and he knew it was just going to get more and more awkward if he didn't say _something._

"Did Puck show you his CD?" he said.

She smiled. "Pretty amazing work. I hear you had a hand in that."

"I just set it up. He did all the music, him and Kurt and Finn and Nicole. Mark did the rest."

"It's edgy, I'll give him that. Noah doesn't do anything halfway."

Dave wasn't quite sure what she meant by that, but he nodded nonetheless. He thought sitting here with Puck's Ma should have been a lot more uncomfortable than it was.

"Where's Sarah?"

"Science camp," she said. "She'll be home at the end of the day."

"Ruth," called the nurse at the desk, and they both got up and went over. "Your boy's looking for you in the back. He's getting his ankle cast set up, but otherwise he's all right."

"Ankle – oh, god." She put a hand on her forehead with a groan. "A broken ankle. He's going to have to stay off it for six weeks, at least."

Dave felt his heart sink. _No swimming for the rest of the summer. _Then _he_ groaned, too. "What's he going to do about his business?"

Her eyes widened. "Shit. This is not good. Well, come on – let's get the bad news out of the way." She pushed past the nurse's station into the curtained patient recovery areas, and Dave followed, hesitantly at first, though she didn't seem interested in leaving him behind.

They found Puck sitting up, hospital gown rucked up around his thighs, staring furiously at the bright yellow cast on his left ankle. He brightened at Dave's appearance. "You heard?" he said to his mother, indicating the cast.

She sighed and nodded, coming over to examine the x-rays tacked up on the light board. "Just what you needed, Noah – a fracture of the medial malleolus."

Puck held out a hand. When Dave flickered a glance toward Puck's Ma, he smiled gently, as though Dave were the one who needed to be comforted. "Dude. It's fine. She knows everything."

"Yes," she said, still examining the x-rays. "I didn't know he was so sweet, though."

Dave felt himself turn crimson, and Puck snickered. "Ma, don't tease him. That's my job." He held out his hand again, shaking it impatiently, and Dave was drawn to stand beside the bed, tucking the hand to his chest.

"You hurting?" he said, touching Puck's head.

"Not with industrial strength drugs in me," Puck said dismissively. "They said it wasn't a concussion. I've got a hard head." He pointed at Dave. "_Not_ a sexual innuendo."

Dave hid his face behind his hand as Puck's Ma barked a laugh. "God," he muttered. "I think I'll just go back and sit in the waiting room…"

"Fuck that, Karofsky," Puck said, keeping their hands tightly linked. "You're not going anywhere."

_No, _thought Dave, watching Puck carefully adjust the leg with the cast. _I'm not._

The doctor, to her credit, didn't blink at Dave's presence in the room. "You need to stay off the leg for at least three weeks," she said to Puck, "preferably six, though I know that's almost impossible considering school is coming up before that. We can get you a walking cast after the bone is sufficiently healed to allow pressure on it. Until then, rest, elevation, and a minimum of stressful activity."

Dave could almost hear Puck's thoughts as he smirked at the doctor. "Don't say it," he pleaded under his breath, and, wonder of wonders, Puck didn't.

"So what are you going to do about your business?" said Dave, wheeling Puck out to the patient pick-up after they'd checked him out of emergency. His Ma listened, clearly wondering the same thing.

"I'll think of something," Puck said confidently, but Dave thought he might be looking a little worried. _That may just be the drugs wearing off._

"I'll stop at the drugstore and pick up your prescription," said his Ma. "You'll bring him home, Dave? And stay for dinner?"

"Uh – sure," he said. "Thanks. I have to call my dad, though."

"Do that," she nodded, looking at him sharply. "He knows about the two of you?"

"Yes," he said. _Though he still hasn't said more than ten words about it since I told him weeks ago._

Dave pulled the car up and helped Puck get in. Puck laughed nervously as the CD player started up in the middle of track 5.

"I wondered if you'd heard it yet," Puck said.

"Heard what?" Dave asked, pulling the car up to the curb and getting ready to turn out of the St. Mary's parking lot into traffic.

Puck eyed him. "Uh. You might want to wait and listen to this before trying to drive."

Puzzled, Dave turned around and nudged the car into a parking spot, idling while track 6 began. It was another unfamiliar song, with an easy rhythm; the drums sounded like Finn had practiced his part. But the lyrics made Dave's jaw drop and he stared at Puck in bald-faced shock.

http:/ www. rhapsody. com/artist/mark-weigle/album/all-that-matters/track/a-good-day

_It's gonna be a good day_

_I can hear him in the kitchen  
><em>_Proudly fixing us some Pop-Tarts  
><em>_And I'm still lying where he wore me out  
><em>_And I'm still listening to the beating of our hearts  
><em>

_It's gonna be a good day_

_We'll throw on each other's clothes  
><em>_Jump on into our Subaru  
><em>_Get the motor running, head out on the highway  
><em>_When I'm with him, well, it don't matter what we do_

_It's gonna be a good day_

_And this day will end in a blaze of tenderness  
><em>_Sleep in peace because we know  
><em>_That tomorrow  
><em>_It's gonna be a good day_

"Puck," he croaked.

"I know, I should have talked to you about it first," Puck said, holding up a restraining hand. "I thought, this is my chance, you know? To get it recorded. It's still kind of new, but –"

"Puck," Dave repeated, turning in his seat to face him, "you just _came out._ In a _song."_

"Well, yeah," Puck said, shrugging. "So?"

Dave struggled to put words to his fears. He thought of the EMT and his awful glare, sliding into blank schooled neutrality. He thought of Emily at the park on the Fourth of July, quietly supporting them, wanting to raise her three children in an atmosphere of acceptance. He thought of Mr. Schuester saying _You look good. Happy. _He thought of himself, six weeks ago, closeted and angry and scared to death of who he was, sure he'd never find anything remotely like this.

"It's just that I'm… really proud of you," he said softly.

"Oh," said Puck, and grinned in relief. "Okay. Well, that's cool, then."

Puck was asleep by the time Dave got him home, passed out on the seat, and Dave had managed to listen to the whole CD almost one more time. He was just starting the last track as he pulled into Puck's driveway, and he idled there while it played. _Sentimental as all fuck,_ he thought tenderly, tracing Puck's sleeping face with his fingers, while he sang the lyrics under his breath to himself. _It's gonna be a good day…_

Puck's Ma watched, startled, as he half-coaxed, half-carried Puck out of the car and into his bedroom. "We have to prop up his foot," she said, following with pillows. "Honestly, I don't know what they were thinking, casting it this early. The swelling's going to be uncomfortable. He hates taking pills – you think you get him to take one of these?" She held up a prescription bottle.

"I have no idea," he said. "But I can try." He sat down on the bed next to Puck and took the cup of water with a straw from his Ma, who went back to the hallway for more pillows. "Baby," he murmured, close to Puck's ear.

"Mmmmm," Puck said in his haze of half-awakeness, smiling. "I love it when you call me that."

Dave glanced once at the hallway, then pressed their mouths together, trying not to jostle his head or his leg. Puck's eyes flew open and his hands came up to pull Dave closer, taking a little more with each heartbeat, until he was gasping and making little moans in the back of his throat. When Dave broke away, he reached up and popped a pill into Puck's throat, sticking the straw between his lips.

"Swallow this," he said, low and sexy. Puck did, eyes locked with Dave's.

"Dude," Puck said, sounding shaken. "Not _fair._ We didn't even get to do fucking _anything_ today."

Dave laughed incredulously. "Uh, you were a little busy breaking your ankle. I think we have justifiable cause."

"For not having sex?" Puck shook his head. "Not likely. Can you think of one day this summer when we didn't do something at least once?"

Dave couldn't, though his mind had a good time running through the litany of awesomeness that had been their sexual explorations over the past six weeks.

Puck's Ma looked at Dave with approving eyes when she came back in with another armload of pillows. "You got him to take one," she said. "You've got a future as a nurse, young man."

Dave and Puck exchanged a look, then broke into nearly identical snickers. "Ma," Puck protested, through the laughter, "come on. Dave's not going to be a _nurse._ He's got a future as, like, a brain surgeon or a computer engineer or some kind of shit like that."

"You say that like nursing school is such a piece of cake," she said severely, but she was smiling. "How's your leg?"

"Hurts," Puck said. "And I'm starving."

"I'll make dinner early, then," she said, rising. "Dave, don't forget to call your dad."

Dave thought about what would happen if he ever _did_ forget to call him, but luckily Dave wasn't built that way and he'd probably never find out. He glanced at the door as Puck's Ma closed it behind her. "She's really leaving us alone in your bedroom?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Ma's kind of awesome that way," he said, grinning. "She always said she'd rather we have sex at the house than in some car or stupid place. Mostly she never liked my girlfriends, though. She likes _you."_

"Seems like," Dave said. He realized he was used to being approved of by parents. "I like her, too. And she seems… fine, with you and me?"

"Yeah," Puck nodded, taking another drink through the straw. "When I told her, she said she wasn't even surprised. She knew about some of the other guys, even though I hadn't said anything. I'm not, like, subtle."

Dave grinned back. "I noticed." He took one more look at the door before running a hand down Puck's chest, propped up on pillows, down his stomach and between his legs. Puck sighed, shifting a little lower on the bed, and closed his eyes, looking entirely more sexy than Dave would have anticipated, given the bright fluorescent yellow cast. "You sure you're not hurting too much?"

"Natural painkiller, man," Puck said softly. "Go lock the door."

Dave did, stripping off his shirt and shoes on the way back, as Puck watched him with clear appreciation and hunger. They edged Puck's shirt and shorts off, and he let Dave untangle them from the leg with the cast, wincing a little. "This is so fucking _stupid,_" he muttered. "I can't believe I –"

"Planning later," Dave said, leaning up between Puck's legs to put a kiss on his mouth. "Right now, relax and let me take care of you."

"Nurse Dave." Puck grinned at his expression. "Hey, it's a classic fantasy. You gonna take my temperature?"

"No, but I might gag you with an Ace bandage if you don't shut up," Dave growled. He gingerly made his way down Puck's body, noting bruises and scratches, but Puck wasn't complaining, not with Dave's mouth leaving a wet trail of kisses on his skin, and when Dave reached his cock he was hard and leaking and bucking up his hips.

"Come on, suck me," Puck demanded, his breath coming harder.

Dave felt a lot more competent at this activity than he had at the beginning of the summer, and although Puck clearly had more skill at it than he did, he felt good about being able to make Puck writhe and squirm this way. He let his tongue rove lower along the crease of Puck's thigh, and came down on the floor next to the bed, lifting Puck's uninjured leg and resting it on his shoulder. Puck edged his ass forward in anticipation of Dave's next action, moaning in approval.

"You are so fucking hot," Dave said, and swirled his tongue into Puck, feeling him pulse and loosen under the slick pressure.

"God, Dave," Puck said with a shudder. His hand stroked his own cock with quick, focused motions. "Yeah… give it to me… fuck me with your tongue, come on…"

Dave had no idea how unbelievably turned on he could get just from listening to Puck say those words in that breathy, urgent voice, but he found himself close to coming just form the sound of his voice. His hands were busy, spreading Puck open, stroking his balls and the skin around his thighs, and he felt Puck's ass clench around his tongue once, twice before he came, managing to keep the noise down to a reasonable level.

'Come here," Puck said, panting, his voice deeper and gravely and incredibly erotic to Dave's ears. "Right here, by the bed."

Dave moved to stand directly next to Puck's propped-up pillow stack, and Puck stared up at him as Dave stripped off his boxers and leaned in along the wall. "You'll have to go slow," he said in apology. "My head hurts like a motherfucker."

Dave thought for a moment that maybe they shouldn't be doing this, but then Puck leaned in and took Dave in all the way, right down into his throat, and _how the fuck did he do that?_ was all Dave could think. He let the wall above Puck's head hold him up, and Puck encouraged him with his hands to move his hips of his own accord, leaning into Puck's mouth, fucking him slow and _god_, it felt good.

"I was so scared when I saw you on the floor," he whispered, blinking back unexpected tears. "I thought – I didn't know what I was going to do if – '

Puck made an understanding noise, and Dave could feel the vibration of it in his cock, but he forced himself to go slowly, not to put any undue pressure on Puck's head. Puck's fingers were busy, too, holding Dave's hips, wrapping arms around his ass and tugging him closer. Dave could see himself kneeling over Puck's face, making him take it while he –

"God," he said, suddenly, as the orgasm was ripped from his body with unexpected force. "Puck – oh, god – "

The guilt was secondary to the incredible relief of being here with Puck, of having him home, safe, and knowing that he was okay. Puck sucked him off, doing that thing with his tongue that always made Dave feel ridiculously cared for, and Dave stumbled back to sit on the edge of the bed, his legs weak and wobbly.

"Good enough for now," Puck said, sounding satisfied. "Something about trauma that always makes me horny."

Dave helped Puck lean back on the pillows and gave him another drink of water, and within two minutes, he was asleep again. He made sure his foot wasn't going to shift and topple before getting dressed and heading downstairs.

He could smell dinner cooking, something tomatoey and garlicky, and smiled a tired smile at Sarah sitting at the dining room table with a book. "You heard about your brother?" he said.

"What a fucking idiot," she said, shaking her head in a far-too-wise way.

"So I was thinking…" Dave pulled a chair out and sat, leaning in conspiratorially, "that somebody was going to need to take over the business for the rest of the summer. There's no way he's going to be able to do the stuff he needs to do."

Sarah nodded. "Your point?"

"You and me," he said. "We can do it. I know all the morning clients, at least. We know what to do, and together we can do everything as fast as Puck and I were working. I'm sure of it."

"He'll never let us," Sarah said, eyes wide.

"I don't think he really has a choice," Dave replied. He held out his hand. "Partners?"

Her smile matched her eyes, and she shook his hand solemnly. "Partners," she agreed.

* * *

><p><em>(Author's note: though for the purposes of this story I've appropriated several songs to be written by Puck, this particular one is by the inestimable Mark Weigle, who has received no small acclaim for his courageous and thoughtful songs about living as an out gay man. Don't miss his fantastic albums.)<em>


	14. Chapter 14

_(Author's note: I've missed this pairing while writing my ridiculous angst of the Donutverse. I'm trying to finish it this week, so watch for more updates tonight or tomorrow. I have another Puck/Dave story waiting in the wings when I'm done, but I'd be interested to know if there are any other pairings you want to read. I don't exactly take requests, but I'm willing to entertain suggestions. _

_Oh, and don't miss the Youtube video of "Puck's" song below - she mentions the Subaru! =)_

_Happy holidays to all. -amy_

* * *

><p>Puck was an insufferable patient. He complained all the time that his leg was uncomfortable – either it was propped too high, or it was on the wrong angle, or it hurt too much for him to sleep – but Dave couldn't really blame him.<p>

"There's not much for it except to keep giving him drugs and keep him off it as long as possible," his Ma said for the tenth time. She was more patient than Dave would have given her credit for. To hear Puck talk about it, she wasn't the easiest mother, but so far she'd been nothing but awesome to Dave. Maybe it was because he didn't have a mother, himself, hadn't had one since he was three, but he kind of liked having her around.

Puck preferred the couch to his bed. A good deal of the time was spent hanging out there, which was good for watching the Star Trek DVDs Dave had bought for him for his birthday – they'd worked their way through the first four seasons in no time – but not really so good for doing _other_ stuff. It was clearly making Puck stir-crazy, not to be able to get up and walk around, for one, but also not to be able to duck into a quiet room and screw around with Dave whenever he wanted.

Dave and Sarah had had to cut back on the pool cleaning schedule, but all Puck's clients understood, and they were so appreciative of Dave and Sarah being able to meet Puck's original contract that Puck didn't end up losing even one client. The Branns felt so bad for Puck falling down their stairwell into their basement that they gave him a huge bonus check, not to mention a big bouquet of flowers and a get well card.

"You could totally sue their ass," Sarah claimed, passing Dave the container of low-fat coffee gelato. "They're just scared."

"I think they're actually sorry," Dave said. He took one spoonful of gelato before putting the lid back on and sticking in into the freezer. He was kind of proud that he'd managed to continue his workout schedule even with the added load. He'd hit a kind of plateau for a while where he wasn't losing any weight, but he could _feel_ his fitness level changing, could tell he was healthier and stronger and faster and it was _awesome_ to suddenly be able to swim so well. He knew it was a whole summer's worth of work, but it had been worth it. He couldn't wait to get back to school to show Coach Beiste the leaner (14 pounds so far, and it was still dropping), meaner Dave Karofsky. Not to mention the size medium t-shirts he was filling out reasonably well.

Puck had never had anything bad to say about Dave's body, but there were definitely advantages to being stronger and lighter. He could still move Puck wherever he needed to go, but now he felt more comfortable holding himself up over Puck's body and sliding into him without putting undue stress on his leg or any other part. There was something that never stopped being incredible about watching Puck's face dissolve into ecstasy as Dave lubed him up, stretched him open and filled him. He loved the sounds Puck made, appreciative and blissful, and Dave was never more in love with him than he was in those moments.

Even when Puck was being an obnoxious sonofabitch, Dave was happy to be with him. Sarah commented about it every day. "You must really be in love with him to put up with him when he's like _this,"_ she muttered as he brought Puck coffee and a Tupperware container of scrambled eggs.

Dave's dad had raised his eyebrows the first time Dave told him he was making breakfast for Puck, while he was over for their standing morning date. "He broke his ankle," he explained, whisking the eggs. "He's not supposed to do anything, and it's driving him crazy."

Dave's dad just peered into the bowl and said mildly, "They taste better if you add a little milk." So Dave did, and Puck ate every bite. And the next day Dave added some mushrooms, and the day after that some cheese and chopped peppers, and from then on it was kind of a game to see if he could find something Puck wouldn't eat. It hadn't happened yet. Puck even liked the grated ginger eggs.

No matter how much he complained, Dave knew Puck loved having him at the house. The schedule he and Sarah had worked out meant they left the house in the morning around 8 and returned at 11:30 for lunch, then three days in the week they'd have more clients until 4, after which Dave would do his swim laps at their last client's house. The other two days of the week, he had the afternoon off. Somehow having a job made free time more precious, and there wasn't anything Dave wanted to do more than spend it with Puck.

It wasn't all fun, of course, not with Dave's grueling SAT preparation schedule to get through. He didn't let up on Puck one minute, regardless of how Puck's leg was feeling that day, or how little sleep he'd had, but he did try to offer _creative_ rewards for good study behavior. Puck was a surprisingly attentive student when he knew a blowjob was at the other end of a half hour of practice tests. _Too bad he couldn't suggest it to his teachers at school,_ Dave thought with amusement as Puck slogged through another round of analogies.

"Only three more days of this, baby, and it'll be nothing but a fond memory," Dave murmured, resting his head on Puck's belly following said creative reward. "Then you never have to take it again."

"You really think I'm going to do okay?" Puck's hand stroked Dave's head in a moment of post-orgasmic vulnerability.

"Yeah, man," Dave assured him. "Your scores are way up from two weeks ago. It's going to be fine."

He wasn't lying. As soon as Dave had started working with him, it had become pretty obvious that Puck's biggest challenge was processing the question. Once he knew what it was asking, he could usually figure things out. He was an auditory thinker, so Dave taught him to read the question to himself in his head and listen to himself; that helped get Puck past most of the words he couldn't read and make sense of things. Some of it was just rote memorization, and Dave taught him some tricks for that, too. Puck's memory for lyrics was pretty amazing, so he made Puck learn a few key mnemonics and make connections by putting things to music.

Dave sat up and put a hand on Puck's chest. "Can't you tell you're doing better?"

"Yeah," Puck said, shrugging. "It's a lot easier, though, when you're here, telling me that. I don't think they'll let you come with me to the test and sit next to me while I write the answers."

Dave grinned. "Probably not. I don't think there's any test accommodation that calls for genital contact."

Puck was scheduled to get his air cast the afternoon of the SAT, which happened to be the day before the Journey concert. It was fortuitous, but Puck's Ma still said he had to take it easy. "No dancing," she cautioned him. "Dave, you make him stay sitting down."

"Ma, nobody sits down at a rock concert," he protested, stretched out on the couch with his guitar in his hands.

"Don't talk to me about rock concerts," she scolded right back. "I've been to more rock concerts than you've eaten hot dinners. And if you're going to go to this one, you're going to do it _sitting down."_

"That sucks," Puck grumbled, but his tone was light, and the beat he was strumming was a positive one:

http:/ www. youtube. com/watch?v=BgVWD3N0NQQ

_I got money in the bank  
><em>_And I got a car to drive (it's a Subaru)  
><em>_And I got a working set of hands that my guitar seems to like_

'_Cause I got a love that won't quit  
><em>_And I got time to rest  
><em>_And I got a clear able mind that sees my life going fine_

_Everything I need is right here in my hands  
><em>_Right here in my hands  
><em>_Right here in my hands  
><em>_Everything I need is right here in my hands  
><em>_Right here in my hands  
><em>_Right here in my hands_

Dave liked this new song. It made him smile to hear Puck say the words _a clear able mind,_ because he wasn't sure he would have been able to say them before he and Dave had sat down and figured out some of the ways that Puck learned _well._ And though he was proud to be the love that wouldn't quit, the second verse made him feel a little sad. He knew a good song wasn't ever a hundred percent positive, but still.

_And I got a floor to dance on  
><em>_And I got a phone to laugh in  
><em>_And I got a tub to cry in  
><em>_I got a bed to hide in_

_Oh but sometimes I only see what's wrong  
><em>_And sometimes I'm convinced my God has up and gone  
><em>_I'll never write a hit song  
><em>_My love will leave me hanging_

_Everything I need is right here in my hands  
><em>_Right here in my hands_

"You know I'm not going to leave you hanging, right?" Dave asked him one afternoon, sitting on the floor in front of Puck's couch, eating a decadent pastrami sandwich. He knew he'd pay for all that salt later, but it was worth it while he was eating it.

Puck leaned over and threw an arm around Dave's neck, in what might have looked like a chokehold if he hadn't also been kissing his ear. "Most of the time," he said. "We're getting closer to senior year, though."

"Yeah," Dave said slowly. "So?"

"So," Puck replied, with stress on the word, "we haven't even decided how things are going to _be_ for us. Like, what's senior year going to look like? You and me… we're gonna do this?"

"Yeah," Dave said again, this time with a smile. "Of course. I mean, hasn't it been good, this summer? I don't think you need to worry about it."

"I'm not worried about it," Puck said, agitated. He sighed and put his head back against the edge of the couch. "Fuck. Yeah. I'm worried. I'm fucking worried it's just going to be too much for you, Dave, and you're not going to want to bother with me once you see how stupid people can be. We've had it pretty easy so far. I don't think it's always gonna be that way."

"No," Dave agreed. "Probably not." But somehow, in Puck's living room, surrounded by Star Trek and lunch and Sarah and the guitar and Puck himself, he didn't care. He just smiled at Puck.

"That guy I was last year," he said. "I'm not that guy anymore."

But when he went home, back to his house, where he spent every night alone now that Puck was laid up at his house, it was harder to remember sometimes. He had moments of doubt, some of which drove him to listen to stupid chick music, and some of which sent him walking at night, like he used to do, running away from what he'd mostly come to accept.

It was Dave's father who brought some of those doubts to light. "Dave," he said one morning over toast and coffee, "I want you to talk to somebody."

"Okay," Dave agreed, adding more skim milk to his cup. "Who?"

Dave's dad's face was serious. "He's a lay minister," he said. "He's got an interdenominational group, for, uh. For gays."

Dave rose to his feet and went into the kitchen with his empty plate, feeling lightheaded. "Dad, I don't need to talk to a minister about being gay," he said.

"He might have something worth hearing, David," his dad said. Once he said _David,_ that was usually the end of things. Dave sighed. He wasn't sure if the argument was worth it. _Easier to just grin and bear it. _

"He's not going to try to convert me back to being straight, is he?" Dave frowned cautiously over his mug. "Because I'm definitely not down with that."

Dave's father's mouth twitched in a way that might have been a smile in any other circumstance. "My understanding is that being gay isn't something that changes," he said mildly. "But I don't think he wants to tell you to be anybody you're not. He just wants to help you think about it in a way that will help you be right with God."

_Right with God._ Dave closed his eyes. "Not too much in the Bible that supports who I am, Dad."

"Not much," his dad agreed. "But I believe in you, Dave, and I believe you haven't totally abandoned your faith, no matter how much you and I have grown apart. I'm just looking out for your well being."

Dave gazed at his father, folding his newspaper. He looked older, Dave realized. There were lines in his face and grey in his hair that hadn't been there before. Maybe he and his dad _had_ grown apart. The thought made him uneasy, and a little sad. "I know, Dad," he said. "I appreciate that. I'll talk to him. I just don't want you to expect it to… you know. Fix me."

"There's nothing wrong with you, Dave," said his father. Dave thought he believed that, too, and he gave him a smile. "I'll set up an appointment. Tuesday or Thursday afternoon, right?"

"Right," Dave said, surprised that his dad had been paying close enough attention to know his schedule.

When he went to go see the guy, though, it took him over ten minutes to get out of his car and walk into the Presbyterian church where the meeting was being held. He didn't like being late to things, but he didn't like _this_ even more. He wondered if Puck would have been welcome. He wasn't Christian, but didn't interdenominational include Jewish faiths too?

He expected there to be more people, but it was just the guy – and _holy shit._ "Hey, Dave," said Mark, reaching out to shake his hand. "Thanks for meeting with me."

"Uh," Dave said. "What the hell? I mean – sorry." He glanced up at the cross on the wall. _"Mark?"_

"The group meets on Monday nights," Mark said. "I know you guys are usually busy then. But maybe you could find some time to bring Puck, some time when you're not watching Star Wars reruns."

"Star Trek," Dave said absently. "This – okay, I'm a little confused. Aren't you _married?"_

"Yeah," Mark said. "It would be PC of me to say I'm bisexual. But it'd be more accurate to say I'm gay and married to a woman. You can't really predict who you're going to fall in love with."

"Huh." Dave took the chair Mark offered him. "So… lay minister?"

"Since I was twenty-two," he nodded. "My faith has always been important to me."

"Is that why…? Your wife?" He wasn't sure if there was a polite way to ask _is it so you won't go to hell,_ but Mark laughed and shook his head.

"Your dad told me you were having trouble with staying connected to your faith as a gay man." He looked expectant. "You want to tell me about that?"

Dave glanced at the stack of Bibles next to them. "Well… part of it is that book there. I mean, it doesn't have very _nice_ things to say about homosexual behavior."

"Which only really matters if you take the Bible literally," Mark agreed. "Do you?"

"No," Dave admitted.

"So, if you can take it as allegory and teaching material and a mess of political intrigue… you think you can tolerate the Bible then?" Mark grinned, and Dave had to grin back.

"Maybe. The other big thing… well, don't tell Puck I said this, because we haven't talked about it. But you know he's Jewish, right?"

"Uh-huh," Mark said.

"He wants his kids to be Jewish. I'm not sure – I mean, I don't know if I can do that, like, convert or whatever. I suppose they could –"

"Whoa," said Mark, holding up his hands. "Kids? You guys are talking about having kids together? Aren't you still in high school?"

Dave nodded doggedly. "I mean, this is someday. Like I said… don't tell him I said this. But he thinks ahead – way ahead. And I don't want this to be something that gets in our way, you know?"

"Sure." Mark gave Dave an admiring look. "I don't know that most kids your age would care to think about this, especially not in the summer."

"Well. My dad did set up the appointment." But Dave smiled at the implied compliment.

"The two of you should come to the group. We talk about all kinds of things about faith and being gay. There's some girls who come too. I promise, I won't mention the kids thing." Mark's eyes were shining with amusement as he shook Dave's hand again.

"Okay," he said, and he thought maybe they might actually do it.

* * *

><p>It had been an uneventful day, but on the way from the Malone's to the Shapiro's, the Subaru just <em>quit<em> outside of the grocery store. Dave spent five minutes stomping around and trying to think of something to do before he gave up. _I know fuck-all about cars,_ he fumed. _And now I'm going to be late for our 2:00 client and it's going to fuck everything up. _Not for the first time, Dave wished Sarah were old enough to carry a cell phone.

Instead, he called Kurt. Or, rather, he called the Hummel house, which was the only number he knew. "Uh," he said when Mr. Hummel answered. "Hi. It's... Dave Karofsky."

"Dave," said Mr. Hummel, sounding pained, and Dave knew Kurt must have mentioned the unfortunate incident with his dad. "Hi - I've gotta say, I'm really sorry about earlier this summer. When I heard the way things went with Kurt, I just assumed you'd told him. And that was really inappropriate of me."

"It's okay, Mr. Hummel," he hastened to assure him. "I needed to tell him anyway. I think - he just thought - Kurt and me, he thought we were..."

"Oh." Mr. Hummel went quiet for a minute. Then he chuckled. "You're... you're not, are you?"

"What? No!" Dave felt himself go red, and he wondered what the rest of the shoppers in the parking lot of the grocery store must think of this conversation. "I'm seeing - I have a - no. Not Kurt."

"All right," Mr. Hummel said, affably. Dave rubbed the sweat off his face. "So what can I do for you?"

"My car stopped working. I was hoping Kurt might come out here and help me out."

"No problem, Dave. Let me get his cell phone for you. He's actually over at the garage right now, but he could hand off his oil changes to someone else."

Dave punched in the number and thanked Mr. Hummel before making the call to Kurt. He was no-nonsense on the phone, getting the details of the car's unfortunate situation before saying, "I'll be there in ten minutes." It was just enough time for Dave to get an iced skim mocha.

Kurt arrived in the Navigator, wearing his Hummel Tires and Lube coveralls and eyeing Dave's Subaru with suspicion.

"Pop the hood, David," Kurt said briskly, sliding out of the Navigator and opening the back door to pull out a massive toolbox, which Dave hefted to the ground for Kurt.

He waited long enough that Kurt added the comment, "Do you even _know_ how to pop the hood?"

Dave rolled his eyes and snorted, pulling the hood release. "I'm not that much of a lost cause."

Kurt's slim form slipped around the door, and one of those pale hands ran underneath the hood, and a second later all Dave could see was a select little sliver through his windshield, which happened to be the edge of the engine and Kurt's waist. "What did it do before it died, Dave?" Kurt asked, eyes narrowed, fixed on the space underneath the hood.

"Uh, it kinda made a funny noise, and shook a little, and then it... stopped running?"

"Oh my _god_," Kurt said under his breath. "All right. What do you know about what's in this engine, so I have at least that for reference? Just point and name things you recognize."

Dave gazed under the hood with dubious attention. "I don't think I've even changed my own oil. Oh, that's the windshield washer fluid compartment."

"You have got to be… okay. Let's try this. Define funny noise for me."

"I don't know," Dave said in frustration.

Kurt hummed under his breath. "You know how a perfect hockey play feels. And you know what goes wrong with a play, from the feel of it. How did that noise feel different?"

"It lost its drive," Dave said immediately, then blinked at Kurt. "It got - ragged around the edges."

"Okay. I can work with that." Kurt poked and prodded at various things, and eventually made a little _aha_ noise, and Dave wondered if he should be asking questions about the crap that got prodded and dismissed.

"What is it?" he asked uneasily. _My dad would have a fit if..._

"There's a spark plug wire disconnected here, and another loose. Let me look - " Kurt rummaged in the kit, and the next thing Dave knew, Kurt had popped what must be a spark plug - it sort of looked like what he thought one would look like - out of the engine. "_David._ These are _filthy_. No wonder it died on you."

"Any chance you can get it running?" Dave asked nervously. "Sarah's waiting at our 1:15 and she doesn't have a ride to our 2:00."

"I'll try," replied Kurt. "You are _absolutely_ going to have to have new spark plugs, and new spark plug wires put in. This is _only_ three years old." He said this last with disdain. "It shouldn't look this bad - this is what you get for buying foreign." Kurt sniffed, and pulled a little round thing out of his pocket, after he'd cleaned the gunk off of one end of the plug thingie.

Kurt fidgeted with the round thing for a minute, turning it round, and then gave a quick twist with it, and Dave could see a little piece of metal on the end that was now distinct from the rest of it. Kurt popped the plug back in, and reconnected that wire, then proceeded to go round the rest of the five wires and plugs. "Try it now," he suggested, after he restored the last one.

Dave started the ignition, then breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, man; you're a lifesaver."

Kurt wiped his hands on his coveralls and regarded Dave with expectation through the window. "So... you give any more thought about that song?"

"What song?" Dave could tell the car sounded different. It was less ragged now, and it wasn't shuddering anymore. _I'm totally taking this to Hummel from now on._

"If you don't get the plugs and wires replaced _soon,_ it's just going to keep doing this. The wires will come loose easily." Kurt shook his head. "The _song._ The one you're going to sing for Puck."

"Dude." Dave looked up from the steering wheel with confusion. "I don't sing."

"Yes, you do," Kurt said impatiently. "Now come on. He'd be putty in your hands. You've got to have something you want to tell him that you can't figure out any other way to say."

Dave thought about this. "Not really," he said. "We pretty much talk about everything."

"_Dave…_" Kurt sighed. "How'd it feel when _he_ sang to _you?"_

"Awesome," he said. "Oh. I see what you mean. Like, a present, only without the wrapping paper?"

"If you like," he agreed, hefting his toolbox back into the Navigator. He lifted up the hood and dropped it, making a _thunk. _"You pick a song. I'll help you work it up. It can be a surprise. You could do it at that open mic he's always going on about."

"No fucking way, man," Dave said, shaking his head definitively: _no._ "I would never sing in front of everybody like that."

Kurt's delicate eyebrow arched, climbed higher, and settled near the top of his forehead. "Is that right?" he purred. "That sounds like a dare to me, David."

Dave stared at him for a moment. Then his lips twisted into a grin. He held out his hand. "I _dare_ you to get me to sing in front of a whole group of people… say, more than… fifty? – before… before the end of senior year."

"You're on," Kurt agreed, shaking his hand firmly. "And I'm going to win."

* * *

><p>Sarah dragged the pool vacuum back to the car with a sigh. "We've got to clean out the filter again, Dave," she said on the way past, avoiding the cat.<p>

"All right," he said, holding up the tubing and draining out the water. It was so much easier when clients had their own vacuum, but not everybody did. Puck's vacuum had seen better days. "I wonder if Puck would let us buy a new one? This one's totally on its last legs."

She shook her head, curls tight and frizzy in the August heat. "No way. Noah never spends money unless he has to. Anyway. Aren't you leaving early today? You have to pick him up from the SAT and take him to the doctor to get the new cast on?"

"Yeah," he said. "I can take the vacuum with me - you won't need it this afternoon at all. You want a ride home?"

"Nah," she said, waving him away. "I've got my bike. Hey, I got a letter back from that radio studio near in Findlay about Noah's CD. They're going to play it. I left the letter on top of the microwave."

"Awesome." Dave felt the smile spread over his face. "That's three so far. We'll send another round of letters tomorrow morning, okay?"

Sarah looked dubious, leaning on the vacuum nozzle. "You don't think he's going to notice you took all the copies of his CD to give to radio stations?"

"Not if I'm secretly having more copies made to replace them," he said. Sarah's answering snicker told him she wasn't going to tell on him. Because yeah, Puck would be _pissed_ if he knew what they were doing, and he'd be doubly pissed if he knew Dave was spending his own money on Puck's CDs. They'd been selling just fine at the three open mics since it was released, and he'd sold a few copies online, but Dave knew what they really needed was airplay. _It's worth an irate boyfriend,_ he thought. _Anyway, he's not likely to find out._ Every now and then he imagined the scenario of Puck flipping channels on the radio and hearing his own song – and then the nuclear fallout. Even that would be worth it.

His phone rang as he was getting into the car. Dave was so busy plugging the address for Puck's SAT testing location into the GPS, he didn't even look at the phone number before he picked up. "Yo."

"What the fuck, man?" Azimio cried.

Dave winced at the outraged tone, and hid his face under his hand. "Uh, hi, Z."

"Don't give me that fucking shit. I'm hearing all kinds of shit about you and Puckerman, and people coming to me for details and I gotta tell them I don't _have_ no fucking details. I'm supposed to know shit about you, dude_. Best friends_ are like that, right?"

"Right," he said weakly. "Um – well… I've been kind of busy helping Puck with his pool cleaning business, since he broke his foot. Me and his sister Sarah, we took it over."

"And what the fuck's up with that, huh? Since when are you and Puckerman tight enough for you to pick up his fucking summer business for him?"

Dave knew this had been coming. He'd been avoiding it for a reason, but here they were, and it wasn't going to get any easier than this. "Cause we've been going out, Z. He's my boyfriend."

Azimio gave a snicker. "Yeah, right. What's really going on?"

"That's really it, Z." He tried to be as calm as possible, but inside, he could feel himself getting jumpy, anxious. _You knew this was going to suck. No sense in pretending otherwise._ "Me and Puck. We're a couple. I'm gay. Really, seriously, no kidding."

He went silent, waiting for an answer. For a minute he thought Azimio was going to hang up on him. Finally, he said, bitter as grapefruit juice, "Puckerman turned you into some kind of faggot, huh, Dave?"

"Not exactly." Dave laughed, even though it didn't feel very funny. "I kind of turned him."

Z picked up a crafty tone. "What, like, Dave Karofsky, faggot zombie? You goin' around biting people, man?"

Now Dave laughed for real. "Yeah, that's it. It's my superpower, to make people gay." _Maybe to turn guys into bottoms,_ he thought, and snickered.

"All right, then." Azimio paused. "So, you coming over to play video games today or what?"

Dave shook his head. _What, that's it?_ "You're not going to lure me over there so you can beat me up or something? Cause faggot or not, I can _totally _take you." Saying the f-word – the _real_ f-word - felt like a revelation. It made him feel… _powerful._ Like the word had completely lost its meaning. _Faggot. Sure, I'm a faggot. So what?_ He grinned, protected by the magic mantle of loving and being loved by the most awesome guy in the world.

"No, man. I just want to hang out with my fucking best friend."

He smiled. "I've got stuff this afternoon, but I could come over after dinner. And I call the controller without the broken A button."

"Dude, I _always_ give you that fucking controller. Because you're such a pussy, you need the handicap." Azimio sounded satisfied. "Bring chips. See you then, sucker."

"Later," Dave said, and hung up. He stared at his phone for a minute before shaking his head, mystified. He was _never_ going to understand Azimio – but that was one of the best things about being his friend.

As he started up the car and pulled out of the driveway, he called Puck. "I'm on my way," he said. "Ready to kick ass on this test?"

"Trying not to puke," Puck said. "Got my sharpened number 2's." That was a joke – the test was completely computerized.

"Well, let me distract you with a funny story, then." He told Puck what had happened with Azimio. Puck was quiet when he was done.

"You think he means it?" he asked seriously. "'Cause he _might_ actually be luring you over there to kick your ass."

"I'll bring a weapon," he said. "And dude. We're going to have to start taking people at face value."

"I guess. I just don't want you to think it's going to be –"

"Puck. Listen. I'm not… going… anywhere."

He sighed. "I think you're going to have to tell me that about a thousand times before I'll hear you."

"So, what is that, ten? Twenty? I've got a head start on the rest of my life." Then he snapped his mouth shut, listening to the silence, and thought _shit, Dave, way to cross a fucking line on the day of his fucking SATs._

"Rest of your life, huh?" Puck said quietly.

"Whatever. Let's start with senior year, okay?" He tried to be casual, let him know it wasn't a big deal. But it _was._ It was a _big _deal. Dave could feel it inside himself now, not all the time, but every now and then, surfacing like the fin of a shark. _Our lives together,_ the shark said. _Spend your life with me._ Dave wasn't ready to acknowledge it, but he knew it was going to come up more and more. It was hungry. Hunting.

"Sure, man," Puck said. "See you in five. I'll be waiting out front. You want a sandwich?"

He sounded normal, but Dave could tell he wasn't going to let it go. "Yeah, man," he said, his mouth dry. "That sounds good."

* * *

><p>Puck had never heard such a fucking scary noise as the sound of his cast getting sawed off. He thought for sure they were going to cut right into his skin, but the physician's assistant seemed totally cool, like they cut boys' legs off all the time. "It's going to look a little shrunken," she warned, lifting both halves of the cast off like a clam shell.<p>

She wasn't kidding. The cast was huge compared to the wizened, pale limb underneath. "I look like I have leprosy," he complained, flexing his ankle experimentally.

"How's it feel?" she asked, touching it.

"Fine." It was a little sore, but he figured that was more from wearing that fucking cast for three weeks. His Ma had decided that was the absolute minimum for safe healing, and then only if he was actually willing to stay off it once he got his air cast on. She'd enlisted Dave and Sarah to sit on him if they saw him doing anything remotely active.

She showed him how the air cast went on with Velcro and padding underneath. "I can swim, right?" he said excitedly.

"Swim, yes. Run your pool business, no." She grinned at his expression. "Your mother knew it would come up. Leave it to your friend to take care of it."

Puck wondered, as he practiced walking up and down the hallway, if he should start correcting people when they called Dave his _friend._ Dave _was_, but it was the kind of mistake that could easily feel like copping out. Puck knew just because it was easier for people to hear didn't mean it was better for them. But it _was_ easier, too – and why rock the boat, people were bound to ask. Why make waves?

Puck had had the experience of _making waves_ with his Nana last week, when Dave had been over one evening when she came over for Shabbat. It had begun with Puck introducing him as his boyfriend, and ended with his Nana snapping at his Ma and storming out the door. _It's always drama with Nana,_ his Ma had said, but he knew she'd been annoyed, and he wasn't at all sure it wasn't at him. He knew she'd come around eventually – he and Sarah were her only two grandkids, and she sure as shit wasn't going to ditch them about some boyfriend.

Said boyfriend was waiting for him at the end of the hall, and he gave Puck that smile that still amazed him, the one that said _you're the best fucking thing I've ever seen._ He crossed his arms and said with amusement, "I think you're thinking way too hard about this, dude. Ease up."

Puck wiggled his shoulders and found his eyebrows squinched down onto his nose, and realized how tense he was. "It feels a lot lighter," he said, indicating the cast. "And guess what? I can _swim."_

"Swim, but not _work,"_ Dave said, and Puck wondered if he'd had a fucking bug in the doctor's office or something. "Awesome. Finish up and let's get the hell out of here. I've got a surprise for you."

Dave's surprises were usually good, so he wasn't worried about it. But when they pulled up to the Lapeer's house, he started to wonder. "What's going on, man?"

Dave watched, not helping, but nearby to help, as Puck got himself out of the car. He liked that about Dave. He never made Puck feel like he _couldn't_ do something – but that it would still be _okay_ even if he ended up not being able to. Over the top of the Subaru, he grinned at Puck. "The Lapeers are out of town for the weekend," he said. "Guess who's house-sitting?"

"Dude," Puck breathed. "Guess who's getting fucked six ways till Sunday?"

Dave ordered pizza first thing – pineapple and mushroom, of course – then took Puck's hand and led him upstairs to the guest bedroom. It looked the same, down to the flowered sheets, and Puck felt like they'd been thrown back to the first two weeks of their relationship, to all the _firsts_ they'd had on this bed, in this house. "I want to start at the beginning," Puck said. "Do everything we did then, all over again."

"Not quite the same way, though," Dave said, helping him out of his shirt. "Unless you're suddenly hankering for condoms again."

"No way," Puck said. The words _never again_ stuck in his throat, wouldn't make it past his lips, but he wondered if Dave could hear them anyway from the serious expression on his face. He watched Dave's eyes flickering over Puck's chest, his abs, his shoulders, all the parts he liked best, the parts Puck knew would get him hard.

"I love turning you on," he murmured, running a hand into the crease of Dave's shorts. "I love that you want me so much. Still."

"_Fuck,_ yeah," Dave said, his eyes incredulous. "Yeah, I want you. I always – I always do." Puck could feel it, feel it with his hand, in the way that Dave pressed forward with a catch in his breath against him. In the way he watched him take off his air cast, like he was a snack.

He lay a hand on Puck's shrunken leg, feeling the lack of hair and the pale skin. "Does it hurt?" he asked.

"No," Puck said. "But I'm still not supposed to do anything."

"Does this count as anything?" Dave asked, giving Puck a little nudge onto the bed and carefully climbing on top of him. Puck felt the thrill spiraling up from his gut and into his chest as Dave slowly undid the button on his own shorts, then unzipped them equally slowly.

"Nothing I'm willing to give up," he said. He thrust up against Dave from underneath as best as he could, with Dave holding him down. Dave wasn't a ton lighter than he'd been at the beginning of the summer, but his body had changed a lot. Puck had been a little worried about his wild attraction for Dave's body waning once he started losing weight, but it hadn't seemed to have happened yet. And Dave's newfound confidence was _damn_ hot, so that kind of made up for his loss of mass. Puck was starting to realize what really mattered here. He was still big, and his body was still fucking sexy as all hell. But way more importantly, he was _Dave._

"You remember the very first thing we did?" Dave said, working his shorts down over his hips just far enough to get access to his cock. He stroked it lightly, right in front of Puck's' face.

"I sucked your cock, on the edge of the pool deck," he said, hearing his voice come out hoarse, because Dave Karofsky, jacking off in his face, was the stuff of fantasies.

But Dave didn't look like he was stopping there. He leaned over and put his hands on the wall, positioning himself right in front of Puck's startled mouth. "You ready to do that again?" he murmured.

"Yeah – right now, man, come on –" And Dave had hardly waited for an answer, and he heard a moan erupt from his mouth as Dave filled it with his hard cock, stroking in and out on his own – the phrase _fucking my mouth_ flickered across his consciousness, and his hips snapped up again, seeking contact with something, _anything._ He moaned again and felt his eyes try to close, but he forced himself to keep them open, kept his gaze locked on Dave's, above him, kneeling on top of him.

"Is this okay?" Dave asked, quick and quiet, not breaking the spell, but Puck could see the concern on his face. He tried to nod as best as he could. _Hot,_ he wanted to say. _More than hot. Totally fucking perfect. _But there was no way any words were coming out of his mouth now. Dave looked relieved, though, and that was enough.

"I couldn't believe you wanted me, back then," he said, thrusting a little harder, and Puck put all his focus on keeping his throat loose, letting Dave _do him_ just the way he wanted. "I couldn't believe you wanted to do those things. With _me."_

Puck knew Dave was mostly over his inferiority complex, but it came up every now and then, mostly during sex. He wasn't worried about it. Puck had his own fears, and they dealt with them, together. It was that mutual support, that trust, that made it okay for Dave to want to do these kind of things with Puck, and for Puck to be okay letting him.

"'Cause, god, look at you – you're so fucking sexy, _Noah,"_ he said, his breath coming faster as his hips picked up the pace. Hearing that name from Dave never failed to catch Puck off guard, and this was no exception. With a twist, he worked his hands free from where Dave had them trapped, and ran them around Dave's back to grip his hips, pulling him deeper into his throat. Dave made a shocked noise, and two seconds later, he shouted, "_Noah, god," _and came in Puck's waiting mouth.

Dave dropped to the bed next to Puck, laughing and shaking, but he recovered quickly, and Puck had barely had time to work the kinks out of his jaw before Dave was unzipping his cutoffs and wiggling them down over his hips. "You remember the _second_ thing we did?" he said, still breathing hard, and gazed up at Puck with a predatory expression.

"Pretty sure it involved _my _tongue in _your_ ass," Puck said, though of course he remembered every detail of it, had gone over it a thousand times in his memory since then – Dave's shocked pleasure, the noises he'd made, the first time he'd heard him say _Noah, _for him. "We're kind of in the wrong position for me to do that to you, dude."

"You're going to have to live with getting instead of giving this time," Dave said, gently propping Puck's broken ankle up on his shoulder, and ran a wet finger between Puck's thighs, making him shudder. "Think you can handle it?"

"I think I could be down with that," Puck smirked, but Dave erased the smirk pretty _fucking_ fast with the pressure of his tongue. Puck wrapped his hand around his own cock, stroking fast. It didn't matter it was going to be over in bare seconds. For the first time in three weeks, he let himself make all the noise he wanted, not worrying about his Ma or Sarah or anybody, just opening his mouth and letting himself call out Dave's name, over and over.

"Love this, man, fucking love you," he moaned, spreading his legs wider, and Dave knew just what to do with his body's cues, fucking him harder, deeper, with his tongue, giving him the pressure in just – the right - spot. "Dave -!"

Dave's hand reached up and clasped his, like a handshake, like a lifeline, and they held on tight, tighter, as Puck's climax overtook him. He could feel himself, pulsing, clenching around Dave's tongue, and it was _sweet,_ so good, and he was so _fucking lucky._

Dave crept up on top of his body, relaxing gingerly on top of Puck, settling his weight on top of him. _He knows me so well,_ Puck thought dizzily, through the post-orgasmic haze. _He knows just what I want, and he works so hard to give it to me._

"I don't fucking deserve you, man," he mumbled, wrapping his arms around Dave and holding him tight, just like their hands had done.

"You've got me, though," said Dave, holding him right back. "You've got me for – for real."

And if Puck knew that wasn't exactly what Dave was wanting to say, he didn't make a big deal about it. It was good enough, for now.


	15. Chapter 15

_(Author's note: I completely forgot to thank Flynn Anthony, cowriter extraordinare, for helping me with the Kurt Fixes Dave's Car scene. Because I am as clueless about cars as Dave is, and thank god, she is as knowledgeable as Kurt. Especially since she has no faith in Puckofsky and has refused to read this story until it is done. _

_I must make a caveat here about the process of Getting Discovered, because if ONLY it were as easy as I describe it here. Mostly I wanted to give a flavor of Puck and Sarah's creative marketing efforts and how they might have used them to be successful. I am completely inventing the process of getting noticed by producers and would not necessarily recommend sending multiple copies of your demo CD to radio stations - although, honestly, what would it hurt? In any case, though I am a stickler for good research, in this case I just Made It Up. Please forgive me, if you are a struggling musician, and I wish you all the best of luck._

_Two more chapters yet, and YES, I promise a happy ending. And let's recall this is Puckofsky, no matter what it may seem. Enjoy. __-amy)_

* * *

><p>"I feel like a total fucking invalid," Puck complained, following Dave through the crowd to their seats. "You're not really going to make me <em>sit<em> through this whole concert, are you?"

"You're not going to leave me at the mercy of your mother, _are you?"_ Dave shot back, tugging him carefully around the people seated in their row.

"Who the fuck's going to tell her?" Puck glared at him as Dave watched, eyebrow raised, until he _sat_ in his seat. "You?"

"Yeah, man," he said. "I'm a _good_ boy."

That made them both crack up, and Puck was mostly mollified, especially when he saw how close they actually were to the stage. "Dude," he said, pointing to the people milling around the wings. "That's the drummer from Foreigner. I can tell – he has that funny hair."

Crew Stadium wasn't the biggest venue Dave had ever been in, but it was right up there. "Can you imagine yourself, performing on a stage like that?" he asked.

Puck looked totally smug. "No problem. I've got that _charisma,_ remember?"

"What are you talking about, dork?" Dave said, grinning curiously.

"You don't remember, do you," Puck said. He looked amused. "On the day I sang that song for you at the open mic. The one I wrote for you. You said, and I quote: 'You've got a killer smile, and you're fucking hilarious. You could win anybody over. I could totally see you with, like, a fan club and shit like that.'"

Dave flushed. "I didn't say that."

"Dude, I _remember_ lyrics. And those got written into a song pretty damn fast after that. So yeah, you _did."_ He poked Dave in the ribs, making him squirm and laugh.

"I haven't heard _that_ song," Dave said. Puck shrugged.

"You haven't heard most of them. They're not done yet. They've got to, you know. What's that word?" He made a stirring motion with his finger by his ear.

"Come together?" Dave suggested, not sure if Puck would know _coalesce._

Puck's face split in a goofy grin. "That's two words, dumbass."

Dave stared, mesmerized, at Puck's lips. "I totally want to kiss you right now."

"Tell me about it," Puck said, staring right back. Eventually they both backed off, and Dave sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, like we're not obvious," he muttered. Nobody around them was giving them the evil eye, though, so he figured they were safe. Then the music started, and the house lights went down, and it was loud and awesome. Foreigner opened, playing "I Wanna Know What Love Is" and "Hot Blooded," and Night Ranger rocked the house with "Sister Christian," though Dave didn't recognize any of their other songs. Puck reluctantly stayed in his seat, willing to follow through on his mother's request as long as he could still see.

But when Journey came on and everybody stood up, their avenue of vision disappeared, and Puck glared at Dave until he said, "Okay, okay, stand the fuck up. But no dancing."

"You'll protect me, right?" Puck cooed into his ear, and Dave was kind of ashamed to find himself turned on by this.

"You bet your sweet ass I will," he growled back, and he saw Puck catch his breath in the light from the stage. He licked his lips.

"Jesus, you fucking faggots," said the guy behind them. Dave turned to stare at him. He wasn't particularly big, but he looked pissed.

"You've got a problem with us?" Puck said, getting his attitude on, not to mention his best badass glare. The guy flinched, but he glared right back.

"Nobody wants to see it," he said. "Just keep your fucking hands off each other, okay?"

"I don't care what you don't want to see," said Puck, and wrapped his arms around Dave's neck. "It's a free fucking country." And he kissed Dave, right in front of this disgusted guy. The guy made a noise of protest, but Puck ignored him.

"Nobody gets to make what we have anything less than awesome," he said, into Dave's ear. "Got it?"

Then Puck turned to the guy. "Enjoy the concert," he said, in his fruitiest, most flamboyant voice, and turned his back on him.

Dave knew his face was beet red. If you'd have asked him later what songs Journey played in their first set, he wouldn't have been able to tell you - but after intermission, the disgusted guy was gone, either gone home or found another seat, they would never know. Then Dave could focus on the music again. But every time Puck tried to touch him or grab his hand, or say something too close to his ear, Dave shied away. After the first few hurt looks, Puck stopped trying.

The concert was still awesome, even in the midst of the weirdness, and when the lights came up after the final encore, they were both smiling. On their way out, Dave trying to ward people away from Puck's foot without actually looking like he was carrying him, they got stopped by two college guys.

"You were the ones making out down the aisle from us," one of them said.

Puck and Dave exchanged glances. "So?" said Dave.

"I told you it was him," the other one said, grinning. "You're Puck, from the open mic. We got your CD last time. Awesome."

"That fellow behind you was being a dick," said the first guy conspiratorially.

"See you next time at the open mic?" the other one said.

"Yeah, definitely," Puck said, smiling big. "Thanks."

His smile stuck with him all the way to the car, but while they were waiting in line to get out of the parking garage, Puck turned to Dave. "So much for protecting me," he said, sounding annoyed. "You didn't even want to _touch_ me."

Dave was silent for a minute. "You know it's not that I didn't want to," he said at last.

"Well, it's either you _do_ or you_ don't,"_ Puck snapped. "I'm not any good at this fucking closet business. I'm not going to pretend to be somebody I'm not."

"I'm not asking you to," he protested. "Just – we don't always have to be so _out there_ about it."

"Dude," Puck said. Now he was quiet. "I wrote a song about you and I put it on my fucking CD. How much more _out there_ can I get? Are you trying to tell me you're ashamed of that?"

"No!" Dave shouted. "Not even a little. I'm totally – I'm _ready._ I'm ready to be with you. I just don't want to…"

"Make waves," Puck said tiredly. "Rock the boat."

"No, man," said Dave. "Lose you."

Puck stared at him for several moments, then looked away. "I told you," he said. "I told you I was _all in."_

"Yeah, but you're not." Dave pulled the car into traffic and accelerated, a little faster than he probably needed to. "You're not, not really. Not completely. Not… not for good."

"Dave," Puck said, desperately. "We're fucking seniors in high school. After this, you're going to some Ivy League school, and I'm – I don't know what the hell I'm doing."

"No," said Dave, feeling the heat of his words. "No, _I _don't know what the hell I'm doing. But I know what I _want._ I want you to stay with me. I want you to come _with_ me, wherever I go. I want – I want some fucking scary shit, man." He looked straight ahead, focusing on his driving as best as he could.

"Dave," Puck said again.

"No, I know you're not ready for it. But I'm sick of you trying to tell me I'm scared and leaving when it's really _you_ that's fucking getting ready to leave _me."_ His voice broke on the last word, and he wiped his nose furiously on his arm. "Fuck."

They drove back to the Lapeer's in silence. When Dave pulled into the driveway, he said, low, "Do you want me to take you home?"

"No," Puck said. "No. Of course not. Dave… I _love_ you."

"I love you, too," Dave said.

They got out of the car and walked up to the house. Dave unlocked the front door and let them in. The house was quiet. Puck bent down to pet the cat.

"You want me to feed her?" he said.

"Do whatever the fuck you want," Dave said. "I'm going to bed."

By the time Puck made it to the guest bedroom, Dave was already under the covers with the lights off. He lay still, not responding.

"I'm sorry," Puck said. "I won't accuse you of… not wanting me… anymore, okay?"

Dave didn't answer. Puck sighed.

"I… Dave, I just can't… I don't know yet. I just don't. I wish I did."

"I know," Dave whispered. "It's okay. Most of the time."

Puck put a hand on his shoulder and, after a moment, Dave rolled to face him. Puck's face was penitent.

"You're the most awesome guy I've ever met," he said. "I'm totally crazy about you. I don't – I don't want anybody else."

Dave nodded. "I know," he said again. He sighed. "All right. Just – come here."

Puck lay down next to him, tucked under Dave's arm, both of them staring at the ceiling, as though the answers to their suddenly fucking complicated relationship might be found there.

"I'm not at all ashamed of you," Dave said.

"I know," said Puck. "I don't know why I even said that. Nobody's ever believed in me like you do, except maybe Sarah."

Dave was almost asleep when Puck rolled into him and said, against his chest, "When I know, I'll tell you. Okay?"

"Okay," said Dave, but it wasn't.

* * *

><p>Dave woke up the next morning to warm, wet friction around his cock, and he groaned as he realized what was going on. "Dude," he said, his voice still rumbling in his lower register as he began to wake up.<p>

"I want you," Puck said, sounding desperate in a way Dave hadn't heard from him before. "I want – come on, baby. Fuck me."

Puck tucked himself back into Dave's arms, pressing himself up against Dave's hard cock, and Dave could feel that he was slick and ready. He wondered how long Puck had been lying there beside him, lubing himself up, stretching himself out for Dave, and the idea was hot enough to wake him up in a hurry. He took hold of Puck's hips, lying there on their sides, and slid right inside his hot, tight hole. Puck said, again, louder, "Fuck me, Dave."

"I'll _fuck you,"_ Dave said into his ear, pulling Puck hard against his hips, and Puck gasped. "I'll _fuck_ you every day, _Noah,_ every morning, just like this… and every day, at lunch… and every night, when we go to sleep. I never get enough of _fucking you._"

"God," Puck sighed, and Dave felt him opening, opening wide for him, just as he had with his mouth, yesterday, propped up against the headboard. Dave flung his leg over Puck, careful not to put any pressure on his bare ankle, cupped Puck's rock-hard cock in one hand, and slammed into him again and again, marveling yet again at how perfectly right it felt for them to be together, just like this. Just like this.

_How could he not want this, all his life?_ said the niggling voice inside. _How could he want me so desperately and not – and not be sure?_

"I love you, Dave," Puck said, and again, his voice cracking, "love you, Dave… love you."

"I know," Dave said, curling around him, holding him as close as he knew how. "I know, it's okay, baby, I love you, too."

His head swam as he came inside Puck's body, and seconds later, Puck came too, bucking against his tight fist. "Perfect," he said. "It's perfect."

"Yeah," Puck agreed, turning his head to kiss Dave over his shoulder. "It really is."

_Apparently,_ thought Dave, with aching frustration,_ perfect isn't enough._

* * *

><p>"What the fuck is this?" said Puck, sorting through the mail.<p>

"Nothing," said Sarah, snatching the envelope out of his hand. "That's mine."

"Did it come?" Dave said, craning his neck from where he was washing the dishes. "Dude. That big envelope – that's totally it."

Puck picked it up slowly and held it up to his head, concentrating. "I predict… fry cook jobs in your future, Nooooooah Puckerman…"

"Dork," Dave said, not even bothering to dry his hands before snatching the envelope away from a snickering Puck. "Let me do it."

"Hey, I'll just be in here with my guitar," Puck said casually, limping into the family room. Dave wasn't fooled – but he also saw at least one other envelope in the pile from a radio station, and he wanted to sort through the rest of the mail before Puck could see them. it was getting increasingly hard to hide this process from Puck. He figured they were going to need to tell him pretty soon, before the radio stations started calling asking for him themselves. Also, Dave wasn't sure, but there might be something vaguely illegal about giving permission to play somebody else's song on the radio.

Sure enough, there were two more letters from radio stations, one returning his CD – which he thought was actually pretty nice of them, since they weren't required to do that – and one offering some airplay at non-peak hours. That made twelve in Ohio and two in Illinois.

"Dude," said Puck from the other room. "Don't keep me in suspense."

"Sorry – just a sec." Dave ripped open the large envelope and laid out the papers inside. He carried Puck's score sheet into the family room, walking slowly while he read.

Puck was _not_ watching him, playing a complicated picking pattern on his guitar, but Sarah was waiting to pounce as soon as he made it into the room. "Jesus," Dave protested, waving her away. "You're going to give me a fucking heart attack."

"How'd he do?" she said breathlessly. "Because I have something awesome here and I'm not sure if I should save it, you know, make it the _good news _after the bad news, or tell you now, so your news won't seem so _bad?"_

"Way to have confidence in me, squirt," Puck muttered, bent over his guitar.

"Come _on_, Dave," she pestered.

Dave sat in the middle of the couch, and she moved to sit next to him. "Okay," he said. "There are three scores: critical reasoning, math and writing. Here's Puck's score, and here's how he compares to the rest of everybody else taking the test this year, so far." He kept his features schooled to neutral, to give her a chance to read them.

"Wow," she said in a small voice. She pointed at the critical reasoning score. "That's – that's pretty good, then?"

"Yeah," Dave said, breaking into a smile. "That's pretty good."

"You guys are fucking _killing me,_" Puck said, abandoning his guitar and getting up awkwardly from the floor, and finally sat on the couch on the other side of Dave. "Bad news first. How's the math?"

"Math is actually not too bad," Dave said. _490,_ he showed Puck. "A little below average. But check this out." He pointed to the writing score: 610. "That's really good. _Really_ good."

Puck stared at the paper. "I got a _670_ on critical reasoning?" He peered at Dave. "Are you sure this isn't a mistake?"

"Dude," Dave said softly, putting an arm around his shoulder. "It's like I've been trying to tell you. You're _smart._ It's the tests that are dumb. You played them the right way – now you can use them to get in… where you want to go."

"Squirt," Puck said. "Out of the room."

"Be back in five," she said, tearing off the couch and into the kitchen, just in time for Puck to give Dave the kiss of his life.

"You," Puck gasped. "You did this for me. Holy shit, _Dave,_ you – this is unbelievable."

"Unbelievable is right," Dave said seriously, holding Puck off him with an effort. "Now you're going to have to get your applications in as fast as you can. Do you have a resume? You should plan to do some on-campus visits, too. You can probably recycle any essays you write for most places you plan to go – hey, and I bet Mr. Schuester would write you a letter of recommendation. Coach Beiste, too."

Puck shook his head. "Too much talking." He clambered into Dave's lap, kneeling over him, and wrapped his arms around Dave's head, plastering their bodies together. It wasn't long before Dave's noises eclipsed Puck's, and their hands were in each other's shorts when Sarah yelled, "Don't forget _my_ good news!"

Dave pulled away long enough to yell, "Better than the scores?"

"You're gonna score, that's for sure," Puck muttered, tipping his head back and burying his face in Dave's neck.

"No, but it's pretty awesome. Seriously."

Puck sighed and sat back, both hands on Dave's broad chest. "For Pete's sake. Can't a guy get some action with his boyfriend without being interrupted by _good news_ all the fucking time?" But he gingerly lifted his air cast off Dave's lap, groping him once more for good measure, and a promise of "Later," and called, "All right, squirt. Come on. Dish."

Sarah darted back into the room, clutching the envelope with which she'd absconded earlier. "Check this out," she said. "Noah, me and Dave, we've been sending your CD around to different radio stations, asking them to play it."

"Really?" Puck gave Dave a curious glance. "… How many?"

"Some," Dave said vaguely. "Don't worry, there are plenty of CDs left. What's this about, Sarah?"

"Anyway, one station – the one outside of Chicago – they got a great response for The Best of You, and one producer called the station with—" She paused to read from the letter. "—'interest in seeing you perform live, and sending a request for opportunities to speak with you about a recording contract.'"

Puck snatched the letter from her hand. "You are totally making that up," he said. "Dave, you read it. I can't – it doesn't make any fucking sense, come on, read it –"

Dave read the whole letter from start to finish, slowly, so Puck could follow without trouble. "They could come to the open mic this week," he said, with rising excitement.

"Fucking Athey could!" Puck yelled. "This is _incredible._" He grabbed Dave's arm and tugged on it. "I – I have to get the new song ready for Thursday. What if they can't come? I have to call them right now. What's the number?" He fumbled for his phone.

"Wait a second," Dave said. "They said your agent should call them. You don't have an agent."

"Agent just means a person or group, in charge of handling accounts and contacts, like a personal secretary, but for musicians," Puck explained. "They do bookings and stuff. Most grassroots musicians start out being their own agents, or they get someone to do it for them." Puck grinned at Dave. "Like their boyfriend."

"I – sure," Dave said. "If you want."

So it was Dave who placed the call, who got transferred to three different offices in the radio station, and ended up leaving voice mail to be contacted via his own cell phone number. "You want to be Puck?" he asked. "Or Noah? Puck Puckerman sounds pretty silly."

"Just Puck's fine," he said, shrugging. "Like Madonna, or Prince, right?"

Dave rolled his eyes. "Yeah. You don't have _any_ kind of ego."

"It's that _charisma,_ baby," he breathed, kissing Dave and reaching for his guitar. "I think I've got an ending I like for this one. Listen, okay?"

_So much for "later,"_ Dave thought, but he was more amused than anything else, and settled in to listen.

* * *

><p>Dave thought it would be safest to wear a suit to the open mic this time. <em>Better to be overdressed than underdressed,<em> he thought. He had no idea what music producers might typically wear. For all he knew, they were t-shirt and jeans guys. Or girls, whatever.

After the announcement about sending out CDs to radio stations, Puck made Dave and Sarah give him a full accounting of the stations' contacts, and had them read him all the correspondence they'd received, including all the rejections. "It's good to know who said no," he said, "but even better to know why. Maybe they just have too much on their plates right now. We can try them again in the fall."

He wasn't angry at all, which was a surprise to both Dave and Sarah, but that might have been colored by the success on the SATs and the letter from the production group, improbably named Hot Potato. "I'm all about the creative marketing," he said, shrugging. "How can I complain when you guys got me discovered?"

Puck went with his usual look, refusing to dress up until somebody told him to, but he was _very _appreciative of Dave in his suit. "Holy shit, Mr. Karofsky," he said, giving him an admiring leer. "You clean up _real_ nice."

"Shut up, dumbass," he grinned. "So what are you playing tonight?"

"Two from the demo and the new one," Puck said, showing him the playlist. "I've got to go with The Best of You, since it's the one that got so much airplay up there. And Beautiful World, because Colin Hay kicks ass. This new one – I think I'm going to have to call it Everything I Need – is upbeat enough that I can get away with two slower ones."

Dave was relieved he wasn't going to have to talk Puck out of playing Good Day. As much as he was totally flattered by the song, it was still a little embarrassing to hear the lyrics, "And I'm still lying where he wore me out," especially if everybody in the audience – and they pretty much did by now – knew _he_ was the guy who'd done the wearing out.

There was quite a crowd there already when they arrived forty-five minutes early. Finn and Rachel were there, as they were most weeks. Dave was kind of impressed with Finn's dedication to Puck's music. He'd been enthusiastic beyond belief about Puck being "discovered," as he'd called it. Rachel was far more impressed with Puck's SAT scores, but she wasn't going to miss supporting him either. Kurt and Blaine were there, too, and Santana and Brittany, and some of the other kids from Glee club. Dave wondered who knew what about him and Puck by now; the rumor mill had made it as far as Azimio's summer lair, and he didn't get out much, so it must be pretty far-reaching.

Dave was talking with Mark and Artie about sound production when he noticed Mr. Schuester and Miss P. duck in and find a seat in the back. "Jeez," he said. Then he decided he might as well go over and say hello. "I'll be right back," he said to Mark.

Mr. Schuester gave him a big smile and a handshake when he saw him. "Dave," he said. "I hear Puck's got some attention from a studio in Chicago? That's fantastic."

"Yeah, could be," he said, smiling. "I wanted to tell you, Miss P. – Puck, he got his SAT scores. 1770 combined, with a 670 in critical reasoning."

"Dave, that's _incredible,"_ she effused, clutching Mr. Schuester's arm. "Why, with those scores, he could get into Ohio State with no trouble at all."

"He's applying all over the east and west coasts," Dave said. "He really wants to get out Ohio. I'm sure he's going to want to talk to you about essays and college visits and everything." He hesitated. "I'd like some help, myself – looking for schools where we might have some overlap."

She paused, looking at Dave with concern. "Dave… you've got nearly perfect grades. Your SAT scores –"

"I know what they are," he said. "I'm just saying – sometimes there are things that matter more than where you go to school. You know what I mean?"

"All right, Dave," she said. "We'll talk more in the fall. You have a lot of options open to you. I'm sure we can find something that works for you and… and Puck."

"Great," he said, feeling a surprising amount of relief. "Thanks. Hey, enjoy the show."

"Nice to see you, Dave," Mr. Schuester said.

Kurt made his way down to the front and found Dave counting CDs. "It's nice not to be the only one overdressed, for a change," he said, touching Dave on the sleeve. Kurt's suit was far more understated, and Dave guessed had easily cost twice what Dave's had. "You're here in a professional capacity?"

"I'm Puck's agent," he said, with what he hoped was a self-deprecating smile. "I don't think I'll fool anybody, but at least he doesn't have to worry about two things tonight. He can just focus on the music."

Kurt nodded, and looked over to where Puck was talking with Nicole at the piano. "He looks calm," he said.

Dave watched him for a minute. "He's doing okay," he assessed. "I think he's more excited than anything else. We won't talk about how many times he used the bathroom before we left tonight."

"Let's not," Kurt said delicately. "Dave – I'm wondering if you gave any more thought to our… agreement?"

"You're not still trying to get me to sing something, are you?" he asked, taking a seat in the chair beside Artie's wheels.

"No," Kurt said, somewhat impatiently. "I'm talking about the P-FLAG chapter. At school this fall."

"Oh." Dave had completely forgotten about that. "Uh, yeah. Absolutely." Then, he had a thought, and turned to Mark, in the middle of sound checks. "Mark – do you know the person who runs the P-FLAG chapter in Dayton? Kurt wants to start one locally, through our school."

"Excellent," Mark said, nodding approvingly. "I know a couple kids in my interfaith group that might be interested in helping out with that. Let's talk afterwards, Kurt."

Kurt's expression was bemused as he got up to make his way back to Blaine, who was looking agitated at being left alone. "You're taking all this a whole lot easier than I expected, Dave."

"What can I say," said Dave, thinking of Azimio. "It's my superpower."

Puck was third in line to perform tonight, but he definitely garnered the most applause from the crowd. Dave hadn't yet been able to identify anybody in the audience who might be affiliated with Hot Potato, so he stayed by the door during the performance to monitor who came in and out.

"Glad to see so many new faces here tonight," Puck said into the microphone, strapping on his guitar. There was no way his jeans would have gone over the air cast contraption, but his mother had said he _had _to wear it, or else she was going to haul him back to the emergency room and personally put a new cast on. A pink one this time. "We all appreciate your donations to the performance space, and for your help in spreading our music by buying CDs and passing them on to friends."

He started with Beautiful World, which had a gorgeous guitar part. Nicole played along on slide steel – Dave knew enough to know the right terms for these things now – and sang some quiet harmonies, but it was mostly Puck's voice and the lyrics, stark and clear:

_And still this emptiness persists  
><em>_Perhaps this is as good as it gets  
><em>_I've given up the drink and those nasty cigarettes  
><em>_I leave the party early, at least with no regrets  
><em>_I watch the sun as it comes up, I watch it as it sets  
><em>_Yeah, this is as good as it gets_

He played The Best of You next, which still made Dave choke up a little, even though he felt like he'd changed so much from the boy he'd been two years ago – even the person he'd been at the beginning of the summer. Nicole's piano and backup vocals went perfectly with Puck's soulful voice.

_The best of you is what they never would notice  
><em>_The best of you is what they never could own  
><em>_The best of you is what lays hidden deep in your heart  
><em>_The best of you is all that I came to know_

There was a lot of applause for that one, and Dave was surprised and pleased to see some people singing along. He wondered if anyone had heard it on the radio. He should start listening to some of the local stations who'd agreed to play the CD, just to see if it came up.

Puck began the catchy opening riff to Everything I Need, and talked over it, telling the story of how he broke his ankle and his time on the couch. The audience was laughing, and Dave just shook his head, smiling. _Fucking charisma is right._

_Everything I need is right here in my hands  
><em>_Right here in my hands  
><em>_Right here in my hands_

_And I got a floor to dance on  
><em>_And I got a phone to laugh in  
><em>_And I got a tub to cry in  
><em>_I got a bed to hide in  
><em>

_Oh but sometimes I only see what's wrong  
><em>_And sometimes I'm convinced my God has up and gone  
><em>_I'll never write a hit song  
><em>_My love will leave me hanging_

Dave felt kind of bad for the performers who were scheduled to go on after Puck, because there was clearly no way they were going to measure up. To his surprise, after his performance, instead of sitting to the side with the other musicians, Puck put his guitar away, made his way up the aisle and sat down in the folding chair next to Dave. He took his hand.

"You were great," Dave whispered.

"I totally screwed up the last verse on Beautiful World, but oh well," he whispered back. "And I couldn't remember any of the patter I'd worked up for Best of You. Was it all right?"

"I'm telling you, you killed tonight," Dave said, and, without even thinking about it, kissed him. Puck pulled back, astonished.

"Dude," he said.

"You've got a lot of fans here tonight," he said, slinging an arm around the back of his chair. "Including this one, right here."

Puck's smile was all the thanks he needed. "All right," he said, leaning back into the curve of Dave's arm.

They stuck around for a long time afterwards, longer than usual, helping with CD sales and talking to people, but it wasn't until nearly everyone else had cleared out that a grey-haired woman in a polo shirt and slacks approached them. "Nice performance tonight," she said, with a cool smile, tapping the stack of demo CDs. "You're better in person. That's good."

"Thanks," said Puck, unfazed. "Are you from the studio?"

"Darlene Tripp, from Hot Potato," she said, offering her hand to Puck. She shook Dave's hand, too. "My associates had to leave earlier, but I wanted a chance to talk with you alone. You've got the kind of sound we're looking for. You're fresh, and young, and you've got – what's the word?"

"Charisma," Dave said, and she laughed.

"That, too. But I was thinking musically – you've got broad appeal, Puck." She raised her eyebrow. "Not your real name."

"Noah Puckerman," he said. "But I've been Puck a while now. I'd like to keep it."

"Sure," she said dismissively. "That last song – it's a winner for several reasons. For one, it's catchy and positive. For another, it only has one lyric in the chorus. There's nothing that would need to be changed, for the rights to be purchased by a commercial firm. I can think of fifteen companies that would pay you money for that song, right now."

"Selling out already?" Puck raised an eyebrow, but Darlene shook her head.

"This is the way it works," she said patiently. "You create, we market. I want you to come down to my office this week and we'll talk about an initial contract. I can't offer you a lot of money up front – it'll depend on how well you chart when we release you – but we can provide some early buzz and set you up with some local gigs. Do you have a car?"

"Yeah," Puck said, smiling. "I – this is great."

"We'll talk specifics when you come to the office. You're his manager?" she said to Dave. He blinked.

"For now," he said. "I'll be there."

"All right." She smiled at them, and it warmed up her face a lot. She handed Dave a card. "Call me tomorrow and set up an appointment." Then she paused, looking Dave up and down. "You're his Good Day, hmm?"

"Uh," he said.

"I thought maybe I would need to tell you to tone it down, after hearing that song," she said, "but after seeing the two of you together, maybe you should ramp it up a notch. Maybe next time you can come up and give him a kiss on stage." She waved a manicured hand. "We'll talk strategies. It'll be fine. You're adorable."

They watched her go with mute astonishment. Puck turned to Dave.

"Adorable, huh?" he mused. "Well, I'll take adorable if it gets me a contract." Then he wrapped both arms around Dave and squeezed him hard. "Holy shit, Dave – _a contract!"_

"You're on you're way, baby," he said quietly, feeling Puck's body thrumming with excitement. "Can I buy you a coffee to celebrate?"

"Hell, no," Puck said, handing his guitar to Dave to carry, along with the box of CDs, the supply of which was definitely dwindling. "My Ma's on double shift tonight. I'm not letting you leave my bedroom for the next four hours, at least."

"You've got yourself a deal," Dave said, following Puck up the aisle.

* * *

><p>Puck sat with the check in his hands for a good two minutes before he said anything. "This… is more than I make in a month, cleaning pools," he said. "This – for <em>playing guitar."<em> He shook his head in disbelief, and looked up at Dave. "How the hell did I rate _this?"_

"You're smart and talented," said Dave, laying turkey down on a slice of bread. He added one piece of cheese and two slices of avocado. "And adorable."

"Shut up," Puck muttered, but he was grinning. "And I have a great manager. A great managerial _team,"_ he clarified, at Sarah's noise of protest.

It was an advance, they called it, to help pay for travel expenses and equipment in preparation for Puck's upcoming CD. "No covers allowed," he said. "I'm going to have to work up a whole bunch more songs, quickly."

Dave spread nonfat mayonnaise on a second slice of bread and pressed them together. "Can you do it?"

"Sure," he said, setting the check down carefully. "I have a couple mostly done, and fragments of a whole bunch more. And I still have two weeks before school starts. I don't think you're going to see much of me, though."

Dave didn't want to say how that made him feel. He was here to be _supportive,_ after all. This was Puck's _dream._ What was two weeks in the grand scheme of things, anyway?

"It's probably just as well the pool cleaning is wrapping up," Sarah said. "I've got marching band practice starting next week. I think we're going to need to close things out with your clients next week."

"You mean _your_ clients, squirt," Puck said. "It's your business, now."

Sarah stared at him. "Really?"

"Totally," he said. "You ran it pretty much singlehandedly the last few weeks. Dave told me how things went. You've got it down. All you need is transportation and you're all set for next year." He grinned. "Maybe a boyfriend with a car, huh?"

She flung her arms around him, and, to Dave's surprise, around Dave as well. "You're the most awesome brother ever," she said, smiling brilliantly, and took off down the hall.

"Never thought giving your little sister a job would make her so happy," Dave said, handing Puck half the sandwich.

"She knows it's her ticket out of here," he said, taking a bite. "She can start her own gold mine. That, and awesome SAT scores. I think you sold her on the importance of that."

Dave thought about the acceptance to Columbia he'd received this morning, and the one to Duke he got in the mail three days ago. "Yeah," he said. "Good scores counts for a lot. And with your business experience, and this recording contract – you're a shoe-in for a lot of places." He put a hand on Puck's knee. He'd be out of his air cast by the time school started in two weeks.

"Dave…" Puck set his sandwich down and touched the edge of the check. "This… it's the beginning of something. It could be a big deal."

"Yeah," Dave said. "I know. It could."

"I'm just saying… if it is a big deal. I might not need school. At least, not right away."

Dave nodded. He'd kind of expected it, but it didn't make it any easier to hear. "Your SAT scores are good for five years."

Puck's look was pleading. "I just didn't want you to think – that I wasn't grateful. For everything."

"No," said Dave. "I don't think that." He pushed his chair out from the table. "Hey – I'm heading over to Mark's church. Kurt and I are meeting with him to talk about that P-FLAG chapter. We'll let you know how things go, okay?"

"Definitely," Puck said, nodding, but his brain was clearly elsewhere. He accepted Dave's kiss absently. "I'll see you – well." He paused, his brow wrinkling. "When am I going to see you, anyway?"

"Soon," Dave said. "I'll come by. You work on your songs. Don't forget to eat."

"Roger." Puck was already leafing through his notebook. "Love you."

"Love you," Dave said quietly, and walked out the door.


	16. Chapter 16

_(Author's note: I want to thank my dear husband for driving across Tennessee today so that I could sit in the passenger seat and write this chapter, tears running down my face, listening to that song (you'll know what after you read) on repeat. One more chapter left, and hang in there, dear readers. It'll be okay. -amy)_

* * *

><p><strong>June 2012<strong>

Kurt had talked him into buying a new suit, but to Dave it looked a whole lot like the one he'd worn last fall to Puck's open mic. Kurt assured him it was far more chic. "You only graduate from high school once," he said, smoothing Dave's lapel. "You might as well dress up for it."

"You say that about every event," Dave protested. "Up to and including everything we've done to get ready for graduation. You probably have your outfit picked out for the last day of school already."

"David," Kurt said, shaking his head. "I had it picked out on the _first _day of school."

"Anyway, we're wearing robes over our suits today," said Dave, dropping his over his head. "What does it matter what we're wearing underneath? We could be naked for all anybody cares."

Kurt bit his lip, stifling a smile. "I think there _might_ be a few boys from the football team who are considering that."

Dave placed the National Honors Society stole over his robe, and helped Kurt on with his. He sat down to tie his shoes. With a wry grin, he handed Kurt the salutatorian medallion. "It was close."

"You earned it," Kurt promised him, putting the valedictorian medallion over Dave's head from behind. "It could easily have gone either way."

"Yeah," Dave agreed, leaning back into Kurt's touch, just for a moment. "It could have."

Kurt squeezed his shoulder. "Are you nervous?"

"You have no idea," Dave said, exhaling. "Not the speech. That'll be fine. My dad made me practice it a million times. But… the other thing. I can't believe you convinced Rachel to go along with it."

"She'll get over it," Kurt waved a hand. "Once she got her acceptance to NYADA, all this high school business became a little childish for her, anyway."

Dave glanced at Kurt's face. He was hard to read sometimes. Not like Puck, who let it all show. Kurt was a Calla lily, hidden, private, beautiful. Puck was like an orchid, with every part of him _out there._ "You regret not getting in?"

"Water under the bridge, David," he said briskly. "And honestly, who could complain about Columbia? I don't need a performance degree to make it in New York. I'll do theatre when I have time."

Dave knew how that was. _Having time_ had been practically impossible this year, what with Puck's performances and traveling back and forth to Chicago for studio time, and the P-FLAG group once a week, and all his advanced placement classes. It hadn't been quite as challenging as trying to complete his Eagle Scout work junior year, though – and, to tell the truth, it had been a hell of a lot more fun.

"You _should_ do theater," he said. "You're really good."

Kurt's delicate blush made Dave smile, but now wasn't the time to get into that. "I'm going to find Puck," he added. "Anything you think I should tell him?"

"Make sure he's got his capo," Kurt said. "Artie's going to need it for the second song."

"I _know,_" Dave said. "Jeez, it's like you think I don't know _anything_ about music."

Kurt glared at his cheeky grin. "You're just as appalling as ever, Karofsky," he murmured. "Get the hell out of here before I do something I'll regret."

Dave left Kurt to finish whatever skin or hair care regimen he was bound to have planned and wound his way through the hallways of the auditorium on his way to the band room. He slapped plenty of high-fives and said _congratulations_ at least ten times along the way. Straight Dave might be a thing of the past, but Gay Dave was just as popular, and he was a lot more proud to be him.

He heard Puck before he saw him. The guy on the piano wasn't as good as Nicole, but he was good enough to play a graduation party. Puck had his capo, he was relieved to see, clipped to the top of his guitar. He wasn't quite ready to explain why he was going to need it. Puck sounded top of his game. Even playing all the same old graduation standard covers, he was a fantastic performer. He stopped when he saw Dave, and set his guitar down.

"I wanted to see the suit," he protested. "You're already decked out with all your graduation bling."

"You'll see it later," Dave promised, reaching up to take his hand. "I can guarantee I'll be letting you take all my clothes off as soon as we're done here."

"Excellent," Puck said, and kissed him. The pianist grinned and politely averted his eyes. There were definite advantages to being out. Being class co-president didn't hurt, either.

"You hear from Darlene about your summer tour schedule yet?" he said, running a hand over Puck's newly shorn scalp. The mohawk had vanished when they'd shot promo pictures. Dave didn't miss it, not really. _Less to hold on to, though,_ he thought, and felt a quivering of desire. It hadn't gone away, and Dave could tell, from Puck's eyes on him, that he felt the same way. It was still one of the best things about their relationship, that they could count on that fucking awesome physical connection.

"Looks like west coast first," he said, dropping his own graduation gown over his head. "Then we'll work our way along the southwest and down into Florida and Atlanta, and up into Boston and New York in August. You think you'll be out there by then?"

"You can count on it," Dave agreed. "I wouldn't miss a chance to see you perform _and_ to fuck you senseless."

"Excellent," said Puck, rubbing his hands together with relish. "I'll be sure to tell the band they don't have to book a hotel room. They can crash with you, right?"

"I think _not,"_ he protested, but Puck just cackled and draped an arm around his shoulder. _"You're_ invited. Nicole and Mark and Andres can just get their own fucking boyfriends."

"Come on," Puck said, taking his hand. "They're going to get started soon. You wouldn't want to miss your own speech, Mr. Valedictorian."

They didn't even think about it anymore. The casual touching, the hand-holding, even the occasional kiss – they'd become as much as an ordinary part of their lives at McKinley as football or hockey. If there was anyone left who had anything bad to say about Puck and Dave being out and proud – and occasionally a little bit handsy in the hallway – they'd been repressed by Azimio long ago.

Azimio drew a line at wearing the beret, but he'd become the leader of the Bullywhips after Santana had passed the mantle. He'd even come to speak, with some coaxing, at one of their P-FLAG meetings. Z still called Dave a faggot on a daily basis, but he wouldn't stand for anybody else using that word in his presence.

"I'll be up there later to accompany Rachel," Puck said, as he reached his row of seats. "Break a leg. Not an ankle."

"Fuck you," Dave whispered into his mouth.

"Later, baby," Puck said with a smile.

It was a beautiful June morning, and thank god there was a breeze. Dave continued up the aisle across the lawn to the podium, where Kurt already sat next to the rest of the student government, and put on his mortar board. Two gay co-presidents and a bicurious vice-president had had an excellent effect on the culture of the school. Dave wondered what it would be like to have an openly gay president in the White House. He hoped he'd see it happen in his lifetime.

Principal Figgins came up to announce the speech by "student council co-president David Karofsky," saying some embarrassing things about his perfect SAT scores and 3.9 GPA along the way, and Dave got up to the applause and whistles of his graduating class.

"Thank you," he said, once they'd quieted. "I don't want to miss this opportunity to thank a few people. Number one, and without whom I never would have made it to where I am now, is my dad." He turned and looked out to where he knew his dad was seated, in the midst of all the other parents. He couldn't see him, but he knew he was there – which is how his dad preferred things, anyway. "Dad, it's just been you and me since I was three, and even though I know you missed Mom a ton, you never made me feel like I needed anybody else in my life to depend on. You gave me everything a boy could need to grow up strong, and honest, and responsible. You taught me to be true to myself. That's the best gift I ever got from anybody." He smiled, knowing his dad could see it. "And when I needed to go find myself, you waited for me – and you were still there when I got back.

"Number two, and somebody I never expected to depend on, but who's been my right-hand man all year: Kurt Hummel." He turned to Kurt, gazing up at Dave with his signature bored, ironic smile, that Dave knew hid all kinds of hurt and loneliness and fear. "Kurt, you always pushed me to do better, never questioning that I could. You saw something inside me worth saving, when I was a scared, hateful bully, and your courage to return to McKinley after what I put you through was a huge turning point for me. I hope you know how much I respect and admire you for everything you've done for this school. It's been a real pleasure serving as student council co-president with you, not to mention leading the Lima P-FLAG chapter together. You've been the best friend I could have wished for – thank you so much. I'm sure looking forward to attending Columbia with you this fall."

By the end of his speech, Kurt's smile had shifted to something a little more sincere, or as sincere as Kurt ever got in public. It was okay. Dave knew who Kurt really was, underneath the polish and style.

"Number three… Noah Puckerman. Noah – would you please come to the podium?"

It hadn't been planned, but he had to come up anyway for the song, so there wasn't any reason for him not to come up early, and it felt right. He knew Puck wouldn't care. _Any excuse for a performance,_ he thought, smiling at the young man walking down the aisle toward him. _And, for anyone who's been living under a rock for the past eight months, one look at the two of us right now should make it pretty fucking clear how we feel about each other._

"We're all saying goodbye to old friends today, many of whom we've known since we were in kindergarten, or earlier. I've known Noah – Puck – since we were six, but I can't say we were friends in any way until last summer. And yet he's had a more profound impact on me than any person I've ever met." He regarded Puck with appropriate solemnity, trying not to smirk at Puck's suggestive grin. _Cocktease. I'll get you for that later._

"Junior year, I was a recovering bully. I'd gone from being a model student, Boy Scout and straight-A student to a hateful, self-aggrandizing jerk. My dad saw it – probably all of you did. Kurt was the first person to say something to me about it. He helped me to see myself for who I am: I'm gay."

There wasn't a collective round of shock. Nobody was surprised by what Gay Dave was saying about himself. It was something he'd said over and over in different ways all through senior year, to students, to parents and teachers, to local government officials, to the press, even on Youtube for the It Gets Better campaign. It didn't stop being a big deal, but it felt a lot easier now. It was part of him – not all of him, not by a long shot – but it colored everything he did, everything he was.

"But I was still hateful - most of all to myself. I couldn't accept myself until I found a way to find the good in me, to recover the parts of myself I'd lost to fear and hate. That's what Puck did for me."

He turned to face him again, focusing on that magic spot just under a person's left eye that let you appear to be looking them directly, while you were actually maintaining a safe distance. Because if Dave let himself look Puck in the eye, he was going to lose it, right now, and cry like a fucking little girl. He figured that wouldn't look very presidential, not even for Gay Dave.

"Puck, at a point when I was absolutely certain there was nothing in the least bit good about being gay, you taught me that I was still the same kid once I'd been proud to be. That I still had something good to give – to you, to the school, to my community – and I didn't have to sacrifice my honesty _or_ my dignity in order to give it. You showed me I didn't have to be ashamed of who I was or how I looked at a time when I was feeling terrible about myself. And you taught me about love, which isn't something guys talk much about, but I'll try. Just give me a minute."

He got his handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose, wiping his eyes. It wasn't staged, exactly, but Kurt had explained it to him, saying: _If you pull out your handkerchief at the right time, you can give all those macho redneck hicks permission to feel something, and to express it, in a perfectly safe and appropriate way – because even men cry at graduation, Dave._ He saw it was true, as several of his fellow students wiped their eyes on their graduation gowns or got tissues out of their own pockets.

Puck wasn't crying, but his face was flushed, and Dave knew he'd gotten to him. _Just like he gets to me, every fucking day._ "When you're a gay kid growing up, like most of us do, in a straight world, it's easy to think you don't deserve love. Because people teach us – at church, at school, in our neighborhoods, even in our homes – that being gay is wrong. But everybody deserves love. Jesus Christ said it, himself. But I was pretty convinced I didn't deserve to be loved the way… the way you love me, Puck."He cleared his throat. "You said, and I quote:

_The best of you is what they never would notice  
><em>_The best of you is what they never could own  
><em>_The best of you is what lays hidden deep in your heart  
><em>_The best of you is all that I came to know_

"I will never forget… being _the best_ for you, Puck. Because I came to know the best of you, too, and a braver, more resourceful, more caring human being I've never known."

Ignoring the tears shining in his eyes, he turned back to the audience. "We're all graduating, those of us here today. Many of us are going on to college. But only one of us has a recording contract and a national tour to look forward to. Puck, I'm sure I speak for everyone here when I say… we wish you all _the best."_ He held out his hand for Puck to shake, and when he did, he pulled him into a hug.

"God, I love you," Puck whispered, amidst tumultuous applause.

"I love you, too, baby," said Dave. "Why don't you go set up for Rachel's number while I do my speech. You've heard it enough times already." Puck nodded and moved across the podium to the stage set up on the far end of the lawn.

He delivered his speech exactly as planned. Dave's speech hadn't felt like anything too life-shattering when he'd written it, but somehow, as he stood up there and talked to all of the other seniors in his class about the process of growing up and becoming who they all were, it_ felt_ important. He wondered if anyone else felt it – this penultimate step on the staircase leading to the rest of his life. He wondered if anyone else was losing something – someone – as precious as he was in the process.

He hoped not.

Everybody clapped for him when he was done, at the very least, and that was supposed to be it for Dave Karofsky. But he knew, and Kurt knew, and Artie and the string section, that there would be more. In a moment.

First, Puck accompanied Rachel singing Carrie Underwood's "Whenever You Remember," and it was awesome, of course, because whatever else Rachel was, she was a fucking amazing performer. Then she smiled into the microphone.

"This is a bit of a deviation from the program, so please forgive me. Strings?" She beckoned them up excitedly. "I'd like to welcome to the stage one of our foremost members of the McKinley High School Glee Club, New Directions: Artie Abrams."

Artie rolled up onto stage and took Puck's guitar from him. "Thanks," he said.

"Dude?" Dave heard Puck ask, as he watched his guitar roll away. Not too many people would have been free to do that, as Artie was, but three years of Glee together counted for a lot. Dave hadn't even been in Glee and he knew that.

"And once again, may I welcome to the stage our class co-president, Dave Karofsky."

Puck's eyes snapped to Dave's as he mounted the stage amid applause. "This is… something new for me," he said, feeling Puck watching him, like a physical presence. "I'd like to publicly admit that doing this means I'm losing a dare." He glanced at Kurt, who nodded encouragingly, and took a deep breath. "But I think it's more important to admit that it's okay to try something new… even if it means you might fail. Because the striving, the seeking, is worth it." _Jesus Christ said that, too,_ he thought, and took the microphone in his hand as Artie began the familiar introductory riff.

"This song is for you, Puck," he said. Then he opened his mouth and sang:

_http:/www. youtube. com/watch?v=CnQ8N1KacJc&ob=av2e _

_Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road  
><em>_Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go  
><em>_So make the best of this test and don't ask why  
><em>_It's not a question but a lesson learned in time  
><em>

_It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right  
><em>_I hope you had the time of your life._

Puck had moved to the front row and was seated on the grass next to Quinn Fabray. He was watching Dave sing with the most… _incredible_ expression on his face. As the strings swelled, he smiled at Puck, and Puck mouthed the words _I fucking love you,_ and Dave nearly laughed out loud. Which probably would have been okay, but they would have turned into tears pretty damn fast. He nearly missed his cue for the second verse:

_So take the photographs and still frames in your mind  
><em>_Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time  
><em>_Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial  
><em>_For what it's worth, it was worth all the while  
><em>

_It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right  
><em>_I hope you had the time of your life.  
><em>

Dave knew he wasn't the best singer, no matter what Kurt had been telling him. But just as there was something special about _being sung to, _there was something magical about _singing to someone._ It transformed his ordinary voice into something extraordinary. He felt it, and he knew Puck did, too. He hoped Puck got the meaning behind the words, for him, as much as for anyone else.

_It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right  
><em>_I hope you had the time of your life._

Then they were all applauding, and Dave bowed, and shook Artie's hand, and he had to go back to the podium where Kurt was waiting for him, but Puck's eyes followed him there, too. He suspected they always would, no matter where he went.

And then it was Pomp and Circumstance time. Dave went up first to collect his diploma from Principal Figgins, and he shook his Coach's hand. "Nice going, Karofsky," she said, hugging him.

"Thanks, coach," he murmured. She'd been appreciative of the work he'd done on his body over the summer, but in the end, he hadn't had time to be captain of the hockey team anyway. He still enjoyed playing, though, and it was okay with him, that some of the younger guys got a turn. He'd had a good few years. It was time to move on.

Kurt followed him through the line, and they filed one right after the other into the front row vacated by the rest of the students, clutching their fake diplomas – the real ones would be mailed to them once school was out.

"You sounded a lot better than the lead singer of Green Day," Kurt told him in an undertone, while they waited for the rest of their class to pass through the commencement line. Dave grinned.

There was no ceremony after that, just throwing their hats into the air and retiring to the lawn for punch and cookies, and talking about what they were going to do next. Everybody knew Dave was going to Columbia, and everybody knew Puck was going on tour, so there wasn't much need for people to talk to them. Eventually they snuck away.

"Dave," said Puck, his hands grazing Dave's own shorn scalp – not quite as short as Puck's, but short enough to keep him cool. They pressed their foreheads together.

"Yeah?" he asked softly.

Puck's own voice was barely audible, but Dave was right up against his body, and he didn't miss much when he was like that with Puck. "I don't want to leave."

_Oh._ "You don't want to leave… Lima?"

"Prick," Puck growled. "I don't want to leave _you."_

"You're not," Dave insisted. He caressed Puck's cheek, and Puck dropped a kiss into the palm of his hand. "You're following your dream. I knew it was going to be a possibility, baby, but _you did it._ You're _doing it._"

Puck rested his head on Dave's shoulder. "Yeah. Now tell me you'll be waiting for me when I'm done."

Dave didn't say anything. Puck went on, shaking his head. "Don't get me wrong. I'm not asking you to. I don't want you to wait, you know? Because – because I want you to be happy." He shrugged. "I just wish we could be happy _together._"

"I got it," Dave said. "Well… let's say you should come to me when you're done, and we'll see where we both are?"

It sounded reasonable to Dave, and Puck nodded his head as though it made sense, but what Dave was really feeling inside, the rending, tearing agony at the thought of being away from Puck for an entire summer – an entire year – an entire – he couldn't contemplate it.

"Come on," he said instead, tugging Puck's hand back toward the party. "Let's go celebrate what we had this year, okay? Because it was fucking awesome."

* * *

><p><em>It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right<br>__I hope you had the time of your life_


	17. Chapter 17

_(Author's note: I have no more words. Just enjoy. -amy)_

* * *

><p><strong>June 2012<strong>

Dave's bedroom opened out onto the roof of the garage in the back. It made a fantastic location for stargazing, out of the stands of overgrown pine trees surrounding their house. When the bugs weren't too bad, he just took the screen out of his window and climbed out there, sat on the warm black tiles and enjoyed the solitude, the way it had lifted him up above the pettiness of his everyday problems.

"I don't know jack about constellations," Puck said, leaning back on his elbows and pointing at the sky. "Okay, I know that one – the big dipper, right?"

"Ursa Major," Dave said. "The Greek told the story of how Zeus turned his lover Callisto into a bear and hid her in the sky to protect her from the wrath of his jealous wife Hera."

"Mmmm. What's that one, the really bright one?"

"Polaris. They used to call it the North Star, but that doesn't work so well for people living in the southern hemisphere, so they just call it a pole star now. It's not true north, but it's pretty close."

Dave tried not to think about this coming August and the meteor showers that he and Puck wouldn't see together this year. _I'd really been looking forward to another summer together,_ he thought wistfully.

"Where's Orion? I know that one – the belt." Puck craned his neck from side to side, scanning the sky.

Dave smiled. "Sorry – it's a winter constellation. We can't see it during the summer."

Puck's fingers reached out and touched Dave's hand, next to him. "It's kind of cool to think that when I look up in the sky, wherever I'm touring, that you could look up there and see the same stars, in the same places."

"Approximately," Dave agreed. It _was_ a nice thought.

Puck knocked a pebble off the roof with his boot and watched it roll off the side of the roof onto the ground. "You totally killed me with that song."

"Would you believe, _last_ summer, Kurt dared me to sing you a song in front of a group of people before the end of senior year?" Dave grinned. "We barely knew each other back then."

"Now look at you. Kind of crazy when you remember how much you hated each other in sophomore year."

"I know."

Puck watched Dave with serious eyes. "You know… I won't freak out. If you guys want to… to hook up."

Dave kept his eyes on the sky. "Dude. He's my friend."

"I know," Puck said softly. "He's my friend, too. I'm trying to tell you, I won't get angry. You don't have to… turn him into a bear, or anything." He nudged Dave with his knee. "I mean, you don't have to try to hide him, or pretend. For me."

"Jesus," Dave muttered. "We are not having this conversation. Puck, I love _you."_

"Yeah, and I won't be around this summer," Puck said patiently. "And we don't know what's going to happen after that. I think he would be into it."

Dave closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Why do I feel like you're my dead spouse coming back to haunt me, trying to marry me off?"

"Hey, I would _totally_ do that," Puck said, brightening. He stretched, then sat up and clambered back into Dave's room through the open window. "You coming?"

"Maybe," said Dave. "Where're we going?"

"I have three more days before I leave for the whole summer, dude," Puck said, and held out a hand to help Dave climb back inside. "Where do you _think_ we're going?"

"Um…" Dave glanced around his room, then shrugged. "Right here?"

"Bingo," said Puck, and drew the shades.

* * *

><p><strong>July 2012<strong>

As soon as Dave saw his dad, he asked, "Did Puck-?"

"No, Dave, he didn't call," his dad said with barely disguised impatience. "And if he _did_ call, he'd be calling on your cell phone, not the house phone, so I don't know why you even bother –"

"Okay, okay!" Dave snapped. Then he sighed, leaning back on the couch, pressing his hands to his eyes. "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm not upset at you."

"I should hope not." His dad sat down next to Dave, watching him with a strange expression, and gave a long, slow sigh. "Dave… you're not spending this whole summer thinking about a boy who's got a commitment elsewhere."

Dave waved a tired hand. "Dad. I don't think there's much I can do about that. You can't ask me not to think about him." _Not when he's in the news and on the radio every day. Not when he shows up in my dreams every night. _

His dad's eyes were concerned, but Dave couldn't really find it inside himself to comfort him. Finally he sighed.

"I saw the article. In Entertainment Weekly."

"Yeah, awesome, huh," Dave said, without enthusiasm. "He said the photo shoot took longer than the interview."

"It said the album's doing pretty well?"

_Pretty well_ was a matter of opinion, but Dave knew by comparison to so many other young musician's first albums, yes, it was. Even a one page interview was evidence of that. And Puck couldn't accurately sing that line_ I'll never write a hit song,_ anymore, either, because by anybody's judgment, he _had. _ Dave had heard it twice on the radio just this week. It was entirely possible that next week it would climb high enough in the charts to appear on the Top 40. "Yeah," he said. He reached out and rearranged things on the coffee table.

"You're proud of him, right?"

"What kind of question is that?" He blinked incredulously at his dad. "Of course I am. It's his dream. I mean, how many people actually _get_ their dream?"

His dad nodded. "What about you, Dave? What's your dream?"

There was no way he was going to fall apart in front of his dad. He pressed his lips together. "I think I've got time to figure it out once I get to school, don't you think?"

"I seem to recall knowing a young man with some very clear ideas about what he wanted out of life," his dad said. "What happened to him?"

Dave shook his head. _He got his fucking heart broken. _

"I think," his dad said, standing up, "it's time for you to move on, David. This kind of behavior doesn't become you. And Puck wouldn't want you to waste your time. Not like this."

Dave watched his dad walk out of the room. He sat on the couch for a long time.

Then he dug his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed a familiar number.

"Hey," he said softly. "It's me. Um. You want to see a movie?"

* * *

><p><strong>October 2012<strong>

Puck knocked on the window of the cab. "Pop the trunk," he called. It was raining just enough to wreak havoc with his acoustic guitar, even inside the hard shell travel case he'd finally invested in. Heavy as all fuck, but it helped his Taylor make it through the hard knocks of road travel. He threw both guitars and his duffel into the Crown Vic's trunk and let it slam shut.

"Where to, buddy?" asked the cabbie as he climbed into the back.

"Uh… 114th and Broadway," he said, reading the address he'd scribbled on his hand. "Carman Hall."

"You a student?" The cabbie punched the clock to start the meter and pulled quickly out into the flow of cars and buses. Puck grinned.

"I'm a musician," he said.

"Lots of those around here," the cabbie nodded sagely. Then he gave Puck a doubletake. "Hey," he said. "Aren't you -?"

"Yeah," said Puck. "That's me." He figured he'd get used to it eventually, but it was still a thrill, every time somebody recognized him.

"How about that." The cabbie gave him a smile. "You doing a show? What do you call it, a concert?"

"Tomorrow night." He gazed out the window at the passing sights. He hadn't been back to New York since their Glee trip. The lights changed, and they slid through traffic past Central Park. "Today I'm visiting my boyfriend. He's a student at Columbia." It always gave him a strange sense of pride to be able to say that. He wondered if Dave felt the same way when he said _my boyfriend sang that song._

He tipped the cabbie extra when he helped him get the guitars out of the trunk, and wrestled them into the lobby and over to the elevator. _At least Nicole and Andres are taking care of the gear. _He reminded himself to call them later to set up breakfast plans, and grinned to himself. _If we make it out of his room by then._

"Should I ask for your autograph?" said a light voice, and he turned to see Kurt smirking at him from the front desk.

It was a little embarrassing how happy Puck was to see him, just as it had felt to see Rachel and Finn show up backstage in Atlanta that summer. Kurt accepted his hug with good humor. "Am I supposed to sign in or something?" he asked, indicating the log book on the desk.

Kurt gave him a VISITOR badge and marked something on the back. "You're in good with the desk supervisor," he said, sotto voce. "Enjoying your visit to the Big Apple?"

"I'm just glad to be out of the fucking van." Puck stretched, cracking his neck. "You have no idea how big this country is until you have to drive the fuck all over it."

"Sounds glamorous," Kurt said, his mouth quirking. "I'd ask you to give us a house concert, but I don't think I could legitimately request one minute of your time with Dave. He'd have my head, for certain."

"School's going okay, then?" Puck said. Kurt put a _Back In Five_ sign on the desk and shouldered the strap on one of Puck's guitars as the elevator door opened. The three college girls took one look at Puck, eyes wide, and made flattering conversation for thirty seconds before dashing away, giggling and talking a mile a minute. Kurt couldn't hide his smile.

"Nothing like your life, clearly," said Kurt, pressing the button for the seventh floor, "but yes, it's just what I was hoping for."

"Does that mean what I think it means?" Puck asked. Kurt gave him a sharp look, then sighed and fiddled with his jacket.

"Not this weekend," he said. "This weekend it's all about you, trust me."

It seemed people knew he was coming, because he heard the words_ Puck_ and _Dave's boyfriend_ drift out of at least one of the open doors as they made their way down the hallway. Nobody tried to stop him, though, and it was a good thing, too, because after four fucking months, he was on a mission, and it definitely involved Dave and privacy and a bottle of lube.

Then the door opened - and it was _Dave,_ smiling at him, and his relief was palpable, because it felt like not one moment of those four months had passed. He dropped the guitar in the entryway and wound his arms around Dave's warm, strong body – had he _always_ been that big? – and just hung on as hard as he could.

"God, Noah," Dave's voice said into his ear, "I've missed you."

Phrases involving _safe_ and _home_ and _best ever_ crossed his mind, every one of them failing the quality lyrics test for unforgivable sappiness, but he didn't worry about it. This was _Dave,_ and he was _here._

Dave held him at arm's length and looked him up and down. "You've lost weight," he said, sounding concerned.

"Road food," Puck shrugged. "Sucks. Better not to eat most of the time. Fuck, Dave." He gazed into his hazel eyes and touched his cheek with one hand, and Dave's breath caught. _That fucking smile,_ Puck thought. He had that amazed look, the one that still said _I get to have this?_

"Let me leave this for you," Kurt said, setting the acoustic guitar down by Dave's bed, and picking up a laptop case and a messenger bag sitting on one of the two desks. "I'll be downstairs at the desk if you need anything."

Puck watched him go, then looked at Dave. "He's your roommate?"

Dave hesitated. "Since two weeks ago. We switched. It was just – easier."

Puck nodded slowly, then went to the door and closed it, locking it behind him. "So how's that going for you?"

Dave's laugh was uneasy. "You really want to have that conversation _now?"_

"Better now than while you're fucking me," Puck said, moving back into Dave's space, right up against his chest. _God,_ he felt good. "Come on. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know, Puck – it's not the sort of thing you bring up in a phone conversation with your _boyfriend_." Dave's eyes closed as Puck's hand made its way down his back and gripped his ass, pulling their hips together.

"Is that what I am?" Puck whispered. He brushed his lips against Dave's mouth, and then Dave had him, his hands on either side of Puck's head, his tongue buried in Puck's mouth, making sounds of desperation. Puck figured he sounded about the same.

"Don't doubt that," Dave begged him, when they parted, gasping. "Don't – you have no fucking idea how hard this has been – how much I _missed _you –"

"I think I have some idea," Puck said, putting both hands on Dave's chest. "I'm the one who's been away from home all summer. It's pretty fucking lonely on the road." He looked hard at Dave. "But this kind of sucks."

"I'm – I know." Dave closed his eyes. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Puck said, shaking his head. He let his hands creep under the hem of Dave's t-shirt – that was definitely a medium, and he guessed Dave had been lifting, the way his arms filled the sleeves out – and ease it over his head. Dave raised his arms obligingly, then helped Puck off with his. There was nothing better than the feeling of Dave's skin against his own, and it had been _such_ a long fucking time. He let out a sigh. "I said it was okay, and it is. I just wish – I wish you'd told me."

And then Puck had reached the limit of his tolerance for conversation, and he dove back into Dave's mouth again. When Dave tried to say something, he said, "No more talking until I've made you come at least once," and pushed Dave down onto the bed, hands on his zipper. Dave lifted up his hips and leaned against the wall as Puck shimmied his khakis down his legs. Then he spread them wide as Puck buried his face in Dave's soft belly, breathing in his scent, feeling the heat of his erection against his cheek, hearing the muted sounds of Dave, Dave wanting him.

"I've been dreaming about this every night for four months," Puck murmured, and took Dave's cock into his mouth.

It was over almost embarrassingly fast - and it was all Puck could do not to come in his pants like a kid, but he managed to strip his jeans off and crawl up onto Dave's lap before letting Dave jack him off onto his bare chest. It wasn't enough, though, not enough for either of them, and Puck dug the lube out of his jeans pocket and had the bottle open before Dave took it away from him.

"There's no fucking way I'm letting you do this part for me," said Dave, his voice hoarse and dark with lust. "Get down here on the bed."

And Dave's thick, slick fingers inside him were enough to get him hard again, right away. _How did I fucking do without this?_ Puck found himself wondering as he twisted against him, moaning, seeking the perfect angle, knowing Dave wasn't going to give it to him until his cock was buried balls-deep.

"I need this," he managed, as Dave's body pressed him into the bed. "I don't care who else you're fucking. I need this, with _you_."

"You've got it, Noah," Dave groaned. "God. You'll have it – always."

It wasn't until later, much later, after round three left them breathless in the shower and they were ramping up for round four on the bed, that Puck told him about the new contract with Atlantic. Dave listened with wide eyes when Puck named the figure they had quoted him.

"Holy shit," he whispered, stroking the back of Puck's neck.

"And that doesn't include travel expenses," Puck said. "Or equipment, or studio time. I could buy a new guitar, though."

"You could buy a fucking house," Dave said, shaking his head. "Baby… do you have somebody to help you manage your money? You can't just put that in the bank. It's going to get spent."

Puck laughed. "Dude. This is _me._ Do I ever spend my money on fucking anything?"

"You could invest it," Dave insisted. "I mean, you can do whatever you want, but… that's a lot of cash."

"You're the one at Columbia, smart boy," he said, and kissed him. "Find me a financial planner."

Later still, he played Dave the new songs he'd written, including the new one for him, which he was pleased to see made Dave cry:

_We say so much instead  
><em>_Of all that really needs to be said  
><em>_We read deep between the lines  
><em>_Where the story's right before our eyes_

_And we keep it simple  
><em>_And we weave what we know  
><em>_It's love and we make it  
><em>_Like so_

They spooned on Dave's single bed, with the covers pulled up halfway – the heat of their bodies kept them warm enough – and managed to get a little bit of sleep before Puck was nudging Dave awake, pressing his thighs open and lubing him up with two impatient fingers. "He'd better not be as good as me at this," he rumbled. He wasn't being very careful, but Dave didn't seem to care, seemed to want it like that.

"Nobody's like you, Noah," Dave promised, thrusting back against his hand. "Nobody."

* * *

><p><strong>May 2013<strong>

Dave double-checked every drawer and looked under both beds for the umpteenth time, because that was the kind of guy he was. He didn't really want to get a call from the summer dorm manager telling him about a pair of shorts or a textbook he'd left behind in New York.

Kurt had cleared out his things the day before, but he was still working at the desk when Dave came down with his last load of stuff. "When are you taking off for Lima?" he asked him. Kurt regarded him steadily.

"I'm not," he said. "I'm staying in New York for the summer."

Dave stared at him. "What-? Kurt, you didn't –"

"I know." Kurt took keys from two other students and checked them out, handing them their deposits. "I didn't want to go through this with you any sooner than I had to. You're a worrier, Dave. It's going to give you an ulcer someday."

Dave took a step back, still stunned. "Kurt," he protested. "What about – summer? I mean…" He chewed on his lip. "We had plans."

"Plans change." He looked tense, and Dave realized he was excited. It had been a long time since he'd seen that kind of energy in Kurt. "Rachel got me a place in summer stock with some of her NYADA compatriots. I get to do six shows a week, every week, for eight weeks."

"That – that's great," he said. He meant it, but it didn't come out sounding like it. He tried again: "I'm really happy for you, baby."

"Don't," Kurt said quietly. His eyes flickered to Dave's hands, on the desk, but when Dave reached for him, he drew away. "We can't do this anymore."

Dave slowly let his hands drop to his side. "Okay," he said, slowly. "What's going on here, Kurt?"

"Have you talked to Puck?" Kurt said, watching him. Dave nodded.

"He's in LA this month, recording, but he'll be home for a few weeks in July. Is _that_ what this is about?"

Kurt shook his head. "This is about me, standing up for myself, Dave." He took another round of keys from waiting students while Dave waited, feeling suddenly lost. Then Kurt turned to him, jerking his chin up. "I thought things would be different by now… but they're not. You still drop everything every time he comes around." He wasn't angry, Dave could see; he was just sad. "Nobody wants to be second best."

Dave realized there was nothing he could say to that that would be honest, so he just nodded. This time when he reached for Kurt's hand, Kurt let him take it.

"Give me the summer to get over it," Kurt said. "I'll be okay by fall. I still want to be your friend, Dave."

He let Dave's hand go as he turned to the next group of students. "Call me," he added, not watching as Dave stepped away from the desk. "At least to let me know your car made it home safe. I _know_ you never changed those spark plugs."

"You know me," he murmured. "I'm hopeless about that stuff."

"Stop in at my dad's shop," Kurt said. Dave hefted his bags, and saw a smile cross Kurt's face as he headed out the door. "I'll make sure he takes care of you."

* * *

><p><strong>November 2017<strong>

"Dave," Amy snapped. "Are you listening? I said Mrs. Henderson needs a warm blanket."

Dave stopped trying to listen to the sound of the Sears commercial on the waiting room television, and brought his attention back to the intern supervising volunteers in the ER tonight. "Sorry," he said. "The song –" He shook his head, giving up. Amy wouldn't care that Puck had written the song behind the jingle, over five years ago. It sure was catchy, though. He shook his head, grinning.

_Everything I need is right here in my hands  
><em>_Right here in my hands, right here in my hands_

He didn't hear him on the radio so much anymore. Dave thought his last album had been his best, but none of the songs had charted and he only heard the first couple hits every now and then. It was deeply amusing to think that, someday, those songs would be classics.

Mrs. Henderson was grateful to receive the warm blanket. No wonder, as it was particularly chilly in the ER tonight, and the snow was starting to fall outside. Harvard was colder than ass in the winter; Dave could already tell the difference between New York's November and Cambridge's November.

"You're a nice young man," said Mrs. Henderson, as he tucked the blanket around the IV on her arm. "You must be spending Thanksgiving with your girlfriend this year?"

"Boyfriend," he corrected absently. "Not this year. He's on tour."

She didn't seem too embarrassed by her faux pas, and her penciled-on eyebrows went up to her forehead. "A musician?"

"A real one," he agreed. It didn't matter that he was only the opening act this time; he was touring with Hallie's Comet, and Puck was convinced they were the next big thing. Every time they talked on the phone, he was full of stories, how much he was learning from them about being a musician – not that Dave thought he had anything left to learn.

Dave still had plenty to learn, though, even after sophomore year when Kurt had got him into the men's chorus at Columbia. Junior year he'd talked him into auditioning for Nonsequitur, one of the a cappella groups, and Dave had been beyond shocked when he'd been accepted. Singing with them had been one of the best things about being at Columbia, and he missed it a lot.

Everything was _harder_ at Harvard, more competitive than he'd expected. He could already tell medical school was going to kick his ass. But he welcomed the challenge. _Maybe I'll join Men's Glee after all,_ he thought as he washed his hands for the eleventy-billionth time. _I need _some_ kind of stress relief, if I'm not going to be having sex with anybody. _

It had been nearly eight months between visits last time, and even then Puck hadn't told him he was coming. He'd just shown up at a Nonsequitur performance, of all the fucking things, just _appeared_ in the middle of the audience, grinning up at him, and Dave had fumbled the bass line, but that was the good thing about singing with other people, because they'd picked it up for him. Puck had given him a standing ovation anyway, and afterwards he'd met him backstage and mauled him against the wall of the men's dressing room, to wolf whistles – because there were plenty of other gay guys in a cappella circles, he'd learned.

"You sounded amazing," Puck had said, which was so funny to hear from _him,_ the man who'd won the ACM award for best new artist in 2014, but he'd just petted Dave's head and told him how awesome he was, and took him back to his hotel room and made him miss classes the next day for the first time _ever._

But since then, Dave had been caught up with moving to Cambridge, and then Puck's tour had started. They'd still be out west until at least February. _At least he's warm there,_ Dave thought, as he shrugged into his down coat. _When I'm done here, I'm totally doing my first internship in Arizona. _

His phone rang as he was heading out the door toward the MBTA station. "Hey," he said, watching his breath curl into the air. "I was just thinking about you."

"Nice," came Puck's voice. "You done at the hospital yet?"

"Just getting out," said Dave, holding the railing as he headed down the stairs. The station was heated, but it wasn't precisely _warm. _"You guys have your Thanksgiving dinner?"

"We had it on Tuesday," Puck said. "Nicole's getting a little too pregnant to be on the road, so she wanted to head home early."

"What are you guys going to do when she has her baby?" Dave brushed errant snow off his slacks and found a seat against the wall, shivering a little.

"We'll figure something out." Puck sounded amused. "Fuck… my ankle's killing me this winter."

"Really?" Dave knew it had bothered him in the past, when the weather changed. "I'm surprised you noticed, being out west – it's still warm there, right?"

"Not exactly." He could hear Puck's guitar, over the – he could hear it – Dave looked up, startled, and –

"Hey," Puck said softly, grinning down at him. Dave looked wildly up and down the station, but there were no cameras, no flash bulbs, and Puck was alone, just him and his guitar, strumming. For a spare moment, Dave thought for sure he was dreaming.

"Puck?" he said, dumbfounded.

"I've got something for you, baby," he said.

http:/www. youtube. com/watch?v=qZaQyHkNDsU

_It's the first full moon of fall  
><em>_Forty miles east of Phoenix  
><em>_I'm getting ready to try again  
><em>_Because I don't want this feeling to end_

_So I'm following the Hallie's Comet  
><em>_Up and over these mountains again  
><em>_Heading down into Boulder  
><em>_I'm going to try to win 'em over_

_You win 'em over  
><em>_With your smile  
><em>_You win 'em over  
><em>_With your charming sense of humor  
><em>_You win 'em over  
><em>_With the touch of your hand  
><em>_You win 'em over  
><em>_When you sing your truth_

From the first note, Dave was riveted to the bench, not even feeling the cold anymore, filling his eyes with the sight and sound of Puck, here, in fucking _Cambridge._ He was smiling, charming indeed – _that goddamn charisma, _Dave thought. And then he laughed out loud, and Puck's smile widened.

Then Dave leaned forward onto his knees and just listened, letting Puck sing for him, as though there weren't forty other people watching, as though it wasn't cold enough to freeze Puck's fingers off down here in the T station. As though he didn't just want to stop him and kiss him senseless. It was a new song, and he wouldn't interrupt for the world.

_So here I am drifting  
><em>_Drifting behind the wheel  
><em>_I think in one split second  
><em>_I could just disappear_

_So here I am asking  
><em>_I'm asking the sky for an answer  
><em>_Why did you curse me with this gift  
><em>_When half the time I don't even think I'm worth it_

_But you said  
><em>_I win 'em over  
><em>_With my smile  
><em>_I win 'em over  
><em>_With my charming sense of humor  
><em>_I win 'em over  
><em>_With my words  
><em>_I win 'em over  
><em>_When I sing my truth_

Dave realized he _had_ said that. He remembered Puck relating the conversation: _You've got a killer smile, and you're fucking hilarious. You could win anybody over. __I could totally see you with, like, a fan club and shit like that._ The hilarious thing was, Puck _did_ have a fan club, with a Facebook page and everything, managed very competently by Sarah, who was starting school at the University of North Carolina this year.

Puck drew closer now, watching Dave with the most absurd look on his face - he looked _afraid,_ though Dave couldn't imagine what of. But the next lyrics caught Dave off guard, and he had to blink away his own tears and look away, smiling like a crazy person, because – _fuck,_ he wasn't allowed to _do_ that.

_Oh, but did you know that you make me cry  
><em>_When I hear you sing your songs  
><em>_Did you know that I am out here singing along  
><em>_And when my true north is gone  
><em>_I search for Orion in the sky  
><em>_And you're there_

_You win me over  
><em>_With your smile  
><em>_You win me over  
><em>_With your charming sense of humor  
><em>_You win me over  
><em>_With just the touch of your hand  
><em>_You win me over  
><em>_Cause you always sing your truth_

There was applause, of course, because this was Puck, and he was still famous enough that at least half of the people in the T station probably recognized his voice. But Puck wasn't looking at anybody except Dave.

"What are you doing here?" Dave said, shaking his head in amazement.

"I just told you," said Puck. "Getting ready to try again."

"Try what?" But Puck's answer was going to have to wait, because the train was here. Dave stood and took Puck's hand, and they walked through the turnstile, Puck dropping a token in the slot and Dave swiping his card, lifting Puck's guitar over and handing it back to him. It was the new one, the Martin D-45, that cost twice as much as Puck's old truck was worth when he sold it.

"First things first," Puck said, grabbing the handrail as the train took off, and he leaned in and gave Dave a kiss. It was gentle and slow, which wasn't like Puck at all. Dave watched him with suspicion as he pulled away.

"You didn't do anything, did you?" he said. "Like, kill anybody? You're not dying of cancer?"

"No, and no." Puck gazed at Dave with embarrassing affection, and Dave blushed. "Okay." He cradled his guitar. "So, I was finishing up this song. And there was a thing on television about the 27 club. You know what I mean?"

Dave did. "Musicians," he said. "Who've died at age twenty-seven. Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin."

"Jim Morrison," Puck agreed. "Amy Winehouse. Rihanna. Kurt Cobain. You get the idea." He gestured to the train. "And I realized – I could be one of them. I mean, I'm not twenty-seven yet, but I could be driving out there, in Phoenix or Boulder or _anywhere,_ and a deer could run across the highway and I'd be toast. Gone."

"Yeah," Dave said, still confused.

Puck exhaled. "And I don't want to do that," he said. "Not – not without having had a chance to – to be with you."

Dave blinked. "Oh," he said.

Puck moved a little closer to him in the train car, feeling the vibration of the tracks, and brushed up against his side.

"I applied for the Longy School of Music," he said. "Here in Cambridge."

"Oh," said Dave again. He looked at Puck. "Uh, and…"

"I got in," he said. "Starting in January." He grinned. "They said my SAT scores were fine."

Dave's first response was _they're a private conservatory, I bet they're not cheap._ But then he realized who he was talking to, and he chuckled to himself. _Money isn't really an object for him anymore_. Puck had rolled over his educational fund and given it to Sarah after Atlantic had extended his contract.

"Dave?" Puck said in a small voice.

Dave looked up from his thoughts. There was that scared look again. "What about your tour?" he asked.

"They're getting a new opening act," Puck said. "Nicole can't tour after the baby's born anyway, and Mark's ready to get home to his wife."

Dave nodded. "And you?"

"Me?" said Puck. The train jerked, and their bodies crashed together. Dave caught him with one arm, holding him up while Puck held his guitar, gazing up at Dave.

Then the doors opened, and Dave stirred, pulling Puck out onto the platform. They climbed the stairs together into the night. The sky had cleared, and it was bitterly cold. Puck's jacket didn't look nearly warm enough, but he wasn't shivering.

"What did you think about the song?" he asked.

"I always like your songs, baby," Dave said, but he knew that wasn't what Puck meant. They stopped in the middle of the quiet sidewalk. Puck gestured at the stars.

"I said… I said, when my true north is gone, I search for Orion in the sky." They could see it clearly now, even in the middle of Cambridge's light pollution, the belt shining like a diamond ring in the sky. Puck took a deep breath. "I got kind of... lost. But I think I found my way, now."

He turned, his eyes glittering in the cold night. "I want you, Dave," said Puck. "I don't want any more days without you. I want to be able to make music with you, and eat Pop-Tarts, and watch Star Trek reruns. I want – I want to have fucking kids together. I want to live my life with you."

Dave said the only thing he could think to say. "What about your dream?"

Puck shook his head. "I lived it," he said. "I loved it – I did. But I'm done now. That was enough. It was just right." He reached out and took Dave's arm in his strong hand. "I told you I'd tell you I'd tell you when I knew. Well, I _know._ And I'm telling you."

Dave was still silent. Puck cleared his throat.

"What's the word, man?" he asked softly.

Dave gazed at his feet, feeling the heat rising in his face. _Fucking ninja feelings. _Finally he looked up at the man he loved.

"I do," he said.

Puck caught Dave's hand and squeezed it, letting out his breath in a great sigh of relief. He beamed at Dave. "That's two words, dumbass."

* * *

><p><em>http:www. youtube. com/watch?v=wmLuV64kdqA_

_Losing my mind  
><em>_Climbing the walls not even knowing  
><em>_What it was I had to find  
><em>_Wondering if I ever would_

_There had to be  
><em>_Some kind of something or someone  
><em>_Who might bring out the best in me  
><em>_Only the greatest ever could  
><em>

_You caught my eye  
><em>_With a glow too wonderful to ignore  
><em>_I took  
><em>_One look  
><em>_Through Heaven's door_

_I never thought I would ever  
><em>_Stumble out of darkness and prize the view  
><em>_But this time I found a gold mine in you_

_This is too much  
><em>_Hard to believe my life is changing, lord  
><em>_But now I've felt your touch  
><em>_I gotta keep passing it along_

_Down in my heart  
><em>_I knew there'd be someone like you someday  
><em>_(On the move) Hear me  
><em>_(Knowing you've) Steer me  
><em>_(Chosen me) Just lead the way_

_I found a treasure (no one can measure)  
><em>_But it's true  
><em>_I can't begin to calculate my wealth_

_(And finders are keepers)  
><em>_I never thought I would ever  
><em>_Chance upon a love I could hold on to  
><em>_I never thought I would ever  
><em>_Spot a ray of hope in the residue  
><em>_I never thought I would ever  
><em>_Find another prospect to interview  
><em>_But this time I found a gold mine in You  
><em>_I have to admit I never_

* * *

><p><em>End Note:<em>

_I want to thank all the musicians who inspired me in the course of this story, including but not at all limited to Cliff Eberhardt, Melissa Ferrick, Mark Weigle and Billy Joel._

_The Youtube soundtrack to this story, with links to all the songs played herein, can be found here: http:/www. youtube. com/playlist?list=PL9501C139D49E77D5_

_The inspiration for this story came from the title of a song by Take 6, ostensibly a gospel song about God, but which can also be read as a romantic song, so I figured it fit for good Christian Dave._

_-amy_


	18. Drabble: New Year's Day

_(Author's note: a drabble I posted on my Tumblr for New Year's Day. I might consider posting more Gold Mine drabbles on the Tumblr. Just a thought. nubianamy dot tumblr dot com just so's you know. Enjoy, and happy 2012. -amy)_

* * *

><p>Santana's parties were legendary, but they'd never been particularly easy to clean up after. "I wash her pool deck for free," Puck explained, as Dave helped him lug the pool vacuum out of the truck, "and she gives me all the empty bottles and cans to drive up to Michigan for deposit. Ten cents apiece buys a lot of new beer."<p>

"Isn't that illegal?" Dave muttered, hosing various colored chunky bits into the shrubbery. He didn't want to _know_ what some of the substances were.

"Better that they don't end up in the landfill, dude," said Puck. He gave Dave's ass a distinctly lascivious glance as he bent over to retrieve a bottle from the bushes. "Thanks for helping."

"You think I'm leaving this party without you?" Dave had to grin at Puck's hopeful look. "I can tell you right now, my first new year's resolution of 2012 is to get laid."

"Mmmm," Puck said approvingly. He shucked his shirt and jeans onto the pool deck and lowered himself into the water, apparently not concerned about getting his boxers wet. Dave glanced nervously into the house, but the remaining guests were far more concerned about their own sobriety than they were about Puck's partial nudity. "Hand me the vacuum, would you… So what's your _second_ resolution?"

Dave thought about this. "I wouldn't mind hearing you sing something," he suggested.

"You're so fucking predictable, Karofsky," Puck said, rolling his eyes, but Dave could tell he was pleased. "All right. But that guitar stays in the case until you make me come hard enough to make my toenails bleed."

"Deal," said Dave, feeling somewhat faint at the prospect. It was great motivation to clean more quickly, knowing what was going to happen next, and it hadn't even hit 1 AM by the time Puck locked Santana's guest room door behind them.

"You're lucky we've been friends so long," Puck informed him, placing the bottle of lube in Dave's hand as he pushed him down onto the bed, "or we'd never have gotten this room. I'm pretty sure Santana and Britt are next door making out."

Dave closed his eyes at the familiar thrill of Puck's fingers on his stomach, tucking into the waistband of his pants. He let his own fingers find Puck's nipple ring and gave it a gentle roll between his thumb and forefinger, making Puck writhe. "And you wouldn't rather be there watching?"

"You're the only one center stage for this show, baby," Puck gasped, and ground his cock against Dave's thigh. "Let me fulfill that resolution of yours."

After all the dancing and teasing and music and beer of the evening, it was over pretty fucking quickly. Dave didn't even bother to flip Puck over and just did him right there on top of him, slicking him up with two ungentle fingers and lowering him down onto his thick cock. "God, Noah," he groaned, watching Puck crouching over him in the dim light of the room. "You're the sexiest fucking guy at this party."

"And you get to fuck me," he murmured, a smile playing over his lips as he arched his back into Dave's stroking fist, "every… day… for the rest of the year."

Puck made good on his own promise, later, naked on the guest bed, with his leg snug against Dave's warm back and his guitar in his strong hands.

_All is quiet on New Year's Day.  
>A world in white gets underway.<br>I want to be with you,  
>be with you night and day.<br>Nothing changes on New Year's Day.  
><em>_On New Year's Day. _

_I… will be with you again.  
>I… will be with you again.<em>

"Happy new year, baby," Puck whispered into Dave's mouth. "It's going to be hard to top 2011, but I think we can give it a try."

http:/ www. youtube. com/watch?v=O0IRY_eWuIw


	19. Futurefic: Sunrise in San Antonio

_(Author's note: Here's a little glimpse into the future world of Puck and Dave in Gold Mine. It's such a very different world than the Dave and Puck in So Nothing's Left Unturned, which is oh so angsty and romantic - do come read, if you haven't yet. I suspect there will be more Gold Mine someday, though, so stick around. -amy)_

* * *

><p><strong>July 2027: Sunrise in San Antonio<strong>

Puck's phone rang in the middle of the night, but Dave didn't stir. It might have been the four beers, but Dave was usually able to sleep through most any interruption. Puck kind of envied him that - the days of sleeping like a rock had ended for Puck as soon as Elliot had been born – but it was all right. It wasn't the worst thing in the world to be up in the middle of the night. Some of his best inspiration hit him at those odd hours, when everyone else was asleep.

Well, almost everyone. He shook his head at the number on the phone and sighed, smiling faintly as he answered.

"What's the excuse this time, flower-face?"

"Scary movie," she said solemnly. "It doesn't matter how bad the special effects are; cornfields and rustling noises get me every time."

"Trust me, there are scarier things out there than monsters coming out of cornfields." Puck stood and walked with the phone out to the hallway, closing the door behind him. Even Dave would wake up if Puck laughed loud enough, and nobody got him going like Beth. He wondered if sense of humor was an inherited trait. She certainly hadn't gotten it from Quinn if it were.

"Tell me about it. Actually, GMO corn, that's pretty fucking scary."

"Look, your mom doesn't want you to say that word, okay?"

"What, _corn?"_ She snickered. "And anyway, is she here? Don't worry, Elliot's asleep. I won't let him hear me."

Puck sighed, but it was practically futile, and he knew it. Stubborn she had in spades, and there was no doubt it had come from _both_ of her parents. "You'd better not. He'll repeat anything you say in front of him."

"Judging by some of the shit I hear coming out of his mouth, I bet you've learned that lesson firsthand." He could hear the grin, and he could see it, too, in his mind's eye. She looked so much like Quinn, but that grin was one hundred percent Puckerman. "At dinner tonight I asked him if he wanted some broccoli, and he said, _Over my dead body."_

"Would you believe that one was all Dave?" Puck heard her snort. "Yeah, I guess I'm not very convincing. He's a lot more careful about what he says around Elliot than I am. He's just that kind of guy."

"Yeah, one who actually cares about the future of his fucking kids' language, apparently." He heard the noise of the fridge opening and closing. "How'd the concert go tonight?"

"Turnout was pretty good. It's always hard to tell from the stage – too bright; it just looks like a wall of people – but there were a couple thousand at least. Andres'll give me the numbers tomorrow." He yawned and rubbed his face with his hand. He was going to pay for this tomorrow, but it was one of those things about being a parent: you had to be ready for your kid, when they were ready to talk to you. Beth had always been a middle-of-the-night kid. He wondered what kind Elliot would grow up to be. He kind of hoped for a mid-afternoon kid, one that might actually let him get some sleep after late night concerts and fundraisers, but he wasn't going to complain either way.

"You can still pack a house, Dad," she smirked. It was a fair jab, but Puck never felt the sting, coming from his own kid. It just sounded clever and made him proud of her, that she could cut with her words so perfectly. Anyway, he _could_ still pack a house_,_ even if this concert in San Antonio wasn't a good example of that.

"Who the hell trusts Texans to know what kind of music to listen to? They'd probably be happier if I were dressed in gold lame and singing Queen." He'd done his share of that in Glee, long ago, but it had been a while since he'd sung anybody's songs but his own. Sarah had written two, actually, and that had been three and two albums ago respectively. _Before Elliot was born,_ he realized with a faint shock. _Shit, he was getting old._ "How'd the little guy do for you tonight?"

"He went to bed just fine. I think he was wiped out from our late night on Friday. I didn't really do anything differently – bath, book, bed, like you said. Worked like a charm."

Puck dug around in his suitcase until he found his gym shorts and pulled them on before sliding open the glass door to the balcony. It was warm in San Antonio all summer, even in the middle of the night. He liked it, even if it made Dave uncomfortable; he might be a Boy Scout leader, but he liked his creature comforts, too. So the only fair compromise was air conditioning at night.

"He's getting used to you," he said. "Last time you came to babysit for us, he wouldn't even let go of Dave's leg."

"Ah, but now I have the secret weapon." She snickered, and he smiled automatically.

"What's that?"

"Ice cream sandwiches," she stage-whispered. "Ellie's already got several of them on good behavior credit. We'll see if he makes it through the gauntlet of lunch and storytime at the library."

"Hey, I'll be coming to you to pay for dentist bills in another year," he said.

"Dad, I'm _seventeen._ You've got a while before I can afford to pay for anything."

Puck smiled. "Your old man's pretty resourceful. If any of that rubs off on you, I bet you'll be coming up with some good ideas about how to pay for all kinds of things."

She wouldn't have to worry about paying for college, at least. That was one of the best consequences of Puck's early rock stardom, such as it was. Both his kids would have college fully paid for, just like he'd arranged for Sarah. The concert tours didn't pay for much - he did that because he loved it, even after all these years - but he received a tidy royalty payment every couple months from Atlantic for commercial uses of his songs. Between that and ASCAP, he and Dave had enough of an income to pay for travel and their mortgage and child care.

Not that they used a whole lot of child care. It was the best thing of all to be able to be home with your kid because you _wanted_ to be there, not because you were out of work or because it was cheaper to stay home than to get a second job. Dave was at the hospital two half days and worked at the community clinic two half days, and the rest he was home. He enjoyed not having a practice to worry about - though it didn't keep him from working his butt off, anyway.

"Speaking of resourceful," he said, "how're those college applications coming? You done with your essays yet?"

"Dave said I could email them to him when I was done with my first draft." She sounded scornful. "Since when do you think I'd come to _you_ for help with an essay?"

"Not offering it, flower-face. Just doing my dad stuff, checking up on you. And don't think I didn't notice you didn't answer my question. You gonna have them done by next week? I'm pretty sure the Columbia application's due by August first."

"Ugh. Dad. Someplace _warm._ I fucking hate east coast winters."

"You really want me to start audiotaping these conversations and playing them back for your mom?"

"She'd deal. And what the hell is audiotape?"

Puck sighed. "Never mind." He put his hand on the balcony rail and breathed in the night air. "Mmmm. You looking at any schools in Texas? It's beautiful here."

"You'll be home by the fifth, right?" She suddenly sounded nervous, and he straightened up.

"We're flying home on the fourth. You got plans?"

"Uh. There might be a girl? And camping. This music festival, in Michigan. She said it's awesome."

Puck paused, feeling the slow smile spread on his face. "Really." He heard a door close inside, and a moment later, Dave stepped out on the balcony, tying his robe. "Does this girl have a name?"

"Divya." She said it in a hushed tone, and that was enough to tell Puck that he shouldn't tease her about this. "I met her at music camp. She's really talented, Dad. She plays guitar as good as you."

"As well as me, huh?" Dave's eyebrow went up, and Puck mouthed _Beth._ He nodded, folding his arms around Puck from behind and resting his chin on his shoulder. Dave's skin was cool from the air conditioning, but it wouldn't be long before he'd want to go in. He'd always been more comfortable in northern climates, even though it was still hot in the summer and the humidity totally sucked. "Well, you'll have to tell me all about the festival when you get back. You want to talk to Dave?"

"He's awake, too? What have you guys been doing?"

"Not a question you really want an answer to, flower-face. Here."

Puck handed the phone to Dave and headed back inside to make coffee, because there was no point in trying to get Dave back to sleep now. He might sleep like a rock, but once he was up, that was it. He wondered if there was any chance at persuading him back into the sunken tub. They'd had an… entertaining evening. Something about the combination of thousands of reasonably attentive fans and one very attractively built husband still got him going. He winced a little as he sat down; weeks on the road away from home meant the first night together again was always somewhat uncomfortable, but that always subsided.

The glass door slid shut. "He wasn't," Dave was saying. "I think it was the audience more than anything else. He was as awesome as ever."

Puck grinned, tapping the grounds into the filter. "I won you over, huh?" he murmured fondly.

Dave gestured for him to shut up. "What was that, honey? No, I didn't check my email yesterday, I'm sorry. I'll check when I get off here. Did you send them?"

He hadn't checked his email because Puck had managed to convince him to leave the laptop closed and the phone in his pocket while they had a reasonably romantic day together. Puck had picked him up at the airport and brought him back to the hotel for a few hours before going out for an early dinner at Le Reve. He even distracted him from not talking about work for nearly forty-five minutes while they did the tourist thing. Puck thought it was a quintessential example of the differences in their parenting styles that, after visiting the Alamo, Dave had bought Elliot a picture book about Texas history, and Puck had gotten him a shirt that said _My dads went to the Alamo and all I got was this lousy t-shirt. _

Then there was the concert, which had gone pretty well considering the small turnout, with _Everything I Need_ for the encore. They'd gone out for drinks afterwards with Nicole and Andres and a couple musicians who played horn and sax on a couple pieces. Puck and Dave had taken a cab back to the hotel when it was clear they weren't going to be able to keep it PG any longer. It was kind of surprising, Puck thought, to find himself still so hot for Dave after fifteen years, but it didn't seem to be going away; he still wanted him just as much, no matter if they saw each other every day or a couple times a month. It wasn't ever something he counted on: it was always amazing, every time, and he liked it that way. He kind of thought Dave felt the same way, judging by the expression on his face as he slid inside him, even as he spoke the words, _I missed you so much._

Dave touched the back of his hand, and Puck realized he was just standing there in the kitchenette, the unmade coffee waiting for him to push the button, the empty scoop resting on the counter. He gave him a sheepish smile. "Tired," he said. Dave, still listening on the phone, nodded, and kissed his cheek.

"Sounds like you could use that essay both for Columbia and Dartmouth, honey," he rumbled. "I'll take a look at it in the morning, and we can go over it when we get home, before you head back to Chicago." Puck watched his face soften. "Oh - I didn't realize that. A music festival? I didn't know you liked camping."

He loved her as though she were his own, there was no question about that, and now that she was old enough to drive the four and a half hours to come visit, they saw her rather a lot more now. Of course, that might have more to do with the way she and Shelby were currently butting heads about practically everything, but Shelby assured him that this was normal and would subside as Beth moved past her teen years. _Mothers know less than nothing when you're seventeen,_ she'd said.

But apparently, fathers' husbands knew just about everything, because Beth doted on Dave, loved him with absolute clarity and conviction. It reminded Puck of the way he and Sarah had been connected when they were teenagers. Sarah loved Dave too, of course, but her work with the Peace Corps kept her out of the country most of the time. He thought she was in Senegal currently, with the latest man of action, still trying to change the world. He almost believed she could do it, some days.

Puck had given up trying to change much of anything a long time ago, and that was pretty much fine with him. He had a good life, an awesome husband, a gorgeous, brilliant daughter. His mortgages were paid. He saw his friends more often than most people did. He got paid - not a lot, but enough - to play music for dwindling but stalwart fans several times a year. And there was Elliot.

"They'll appreciate your honesty, honey," Dave was saying. "An essay's a chance for you to show them who you really are, beyond the scores and grades and extracurriculars. You don't need to follow the rules so much." He laughed. "Yeah, I know you do. It's what makes you so fantastic."

It was no wonder Beth thought Dave was the best thing since tattoos, he thought. He always knew exactly what to say to bring out the best in her. Puck got it. It was the same thing that had made him fall in love with Dave fifteen years ago.

"I'll see if I can find a pair tomorrow. See if you can get some more sleep, okay? He's going to be up at seven-thirty in the morning and you're going to be dead on your feet if you can't - fine, never mind. I know you can. You want to say goodbye to your dad? Okay - goodnight."

"What does she want us to pick up?" Puck asked, as Dave closed the phone and handed it back to him.

He shook his head, smiling. "She wants a pair of purple alligator-skin boots from Little's, size six and a half."

"Sounds expensive, Doctor Karofsky. You think your wallet can handle it?" He poured coffee into a styrofoam cup and added two creamers and a sugar before passing it to Dave.

His eyebrow went up over the rim of the cup. "Somehow that's never stopped me before."

"No, you're a total pushover," Puck agreed. He switched off the light. "Come on. Bring that coffee back to bed. You can even read your fucking email; I won't say one word."

Dave wrapped one arm around his shoulder with a faint smile. "Not yet. We're pointed in the right direction, and the weather's clear. If we stand out on the balcony, I think we'll be able to see the sun rise."

The sky was hazy and still nearly dark, but from their vantage point above the city, there were traces of color along the eastern horizon. Puck breathed in the dry desert air.

"It doesn't have any more oxygen than the air in Boston," Dave said, still gazing at him with that funny little smile.

"Hey, that's where you're wrong. This feels _good_ to breathe. That stuff that passes for air in Boston makes my head hurt. You know what the temperature was yesterday in Boston?"

"Ninety-two," Dave murmured, "with ninety-five percent humidity."

"Dude." Puck leaned backwards against Dave's body, and hummed at the hand idly stroking his stomach. "Since when does that sound like something that would be _fun?"_

"Baby, nobody lives in Boston for the weather. You know why we're there. Red Sox. Awesome public transportation. Harvard. Low crime rate. Cape Cod. Shall I go on?"

Puck sighed slowly. "No, I got it." His eyes slipped closed as Dave nuzzled his neck, and he felt himself stir. "Clam chowder," he added.

"Of course."

The sky had brightened perceptibly, painted with reds and golds. They watched the city waking up around them, fourteen stories below.

"Beth painted Elliot's toenails," Dave said. "He wants to do hers tomorrow. Might be a little healthier than ice cream sandwiches, I told her."

"Yeah, I'm sure. Pretty soon I'll be bribing him to paint _mine." _Puck turned his head far enough to press his cheek into Dave's chest. "He read her that Frog and Toad book, baby. The whole thing. Looks like the fucked-up Puckerman literacy genes have skipped this generation."

"I'm not surprised - he knew all those words. He just needed to pick it up and do it. I was an early reader, too." Dave's face was pleased, though. "A little less intimidating, reading to your sister, than to your dads, maybe?"

"Maybe. I really think it was the ice cream that inspired him."

Dave chuckled. "We are not encouraging _my_ genetics to emerge in that respect. He's already looking entirely too much like me around the middle."

Puck elbowed Dave in the stomach. "I like your middle just fine, thank you. And he's far more your son than mine."

The genetic engineering to produce a viable zygote from two sets of male DNA was fairly commonplace now, but that didn't stop Puck from marveling every time he saw another part of Elliot that had clearly arisen from Dave's half of the genetic pool. Puck's complexion; Dave's hair. Puck's musical affinity; Dave's reading. They weren't sure about all of it yet, but he was four, after all. They had time.

"One more day," Dave said. "Then back to civilization. Any ideas about what you might want to do tomorrow? Besides take a nap?"

"Mmmm. I don't know. I think I wore out my tourism urges today."

Dave gazed across the balcony at the sky, now definitely pink. "There's a real estate agent a block and a half from here. Maybe he could show us some houses."

Puck jerked away from him, staring in astonishment. Dave kept his eyes on the sunrise, suppressing a smile.

"Houses," Puck said flatly.

"If you want," Dave agreed. "I hear the best schools are in Northside and Northeast."

Puck opened his mouth, then closed it again.

He turned warm eyes on Puck. "You love it here, baby. Every time you come here, you want to stay. How could I say no to something that makes you so happy?"

Puck's arms threaded around Dave's padded, perfect body, and he held him tight. "That's because you're a fucking pushover, Karofsky," he whispered, not trusting his voice.

"Yeah," Dave agreed, and kissed his ear. "And I love you. Okay; I think we've officially seen sunrise in San Antonio. Let's go back to bed."


	20. Kurtofsky Interlude

_(Author's note: _The first two snippets are excerpts from Gold Mine, just to get you caught back up. A_s Kurt often does, he surprised me in the course of this story. I had no idea that he and Dave were going to end up lovers for a while, but best friends do that, sometimes. So this is their story, between the end of senior year and the summer after their first year of college. I see Dave and Puck as ultimately monogamous, though, so you already know how this chapter will end up. I would not be offended at all if you chose not to read it. But, if you do... enjoy. -amy)_

* * *

><p><strong>June 2012<strong>

_... Puck watched Dave with serious eyes. "You know… I won't freak out. If you guys want to… to hook up."_

_Dave kept his eyes on the sky. "Dude. He's my friend."_

_"I know," Puck said softly. "He's my friend, too. I'm trying to tell you, I won't get angry. You don't have to… turn him into a bear, or anything." He nudged Dave with his knee. "I mean, you don't have to try to hide him, or pretend. For me."_

_"Jesus," Dave muttered. "We are not having this conversation. Puck, I love you."_

_"Yeah, and I won't be around this summer," Puck said patiently. "And we don't know what's going to happen after that. I think he would be into it."_

_Dave closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Why do I feel like you're my dead spouse coming back to haunt me, trying to marry me off?"_

_"Hey, I would totally do that," Puck said, brightening._

* * *

><p><strong>July 2012<strong>

_... "I think," his dad said, standing up, "it's time for you to move on, David. This kind of behavior doesn't become you. And Puck wouldn't want you to waste your time. Not like this."_

_Dave watched his dad walk out of the room. He sat on the couch for a long time._

_Then he dug his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed a familiar number._

_"Hey," he said softly. "It's me. Um. You want to see a movie?"_

* * *

><p>Dave paid for the movie, but he let Kurt pick up the refreshments. Even so, Kurt gave him a funny look.<p>

"Orientation next week." Kurt took a neat handful of popcorn before settling himself into the second to last seat in the row. "Is your dad driving you out?"

"We're flying," Dave said. He propped his feet up on the seat in front of him. "He can't take that much time off work."

"David, you could have come with us," Kurt chided. "I can't believe he has a spare couple hundred dollars sitting around."

"It's okay." The popcorn was stale and tasteless, but he ate another bite anyway. _Nobody left to be skinny for,_ he thought morosely, but he gave it up quickly. It just wasn't him. He wasn't the broody type. "I think he kind of likes the idea of taking the trip with me, and this was the only way it was going to happen. In and out, like an assassination strike."

"That wins the award for most depressing simile of the afternoon, David." He almost flinched away from Kurt's hand on his wrist, but Kurt's gentle voice cut deeper than any touch could. "You're missing him so much."

"Yeah," he whispered. He fiddled with the hem of his shorts until Kurt turned his hand over and interlaced their fingers.

"I'm sorry."

"Me, too." He wiped away useless tears with the back of his other hand. "I just don't know what to do."

"Well..." Kurt squeezed his fingers. "We watch this movie. Then... there's always dinner."

Dave laughed despite himself. "Dinner and a movie, huh? It's really starting to sound like a date now."

Kurt let Dave's hand go as the house lights came down, and he didn't speak again for several minutes. Their fingers nudged occasionally as they ate the popcorn. Kurt reached across him once to steal his cup of water, and his arm rested on Dave's thigh for a moment.

"It... could be," Kurt said.

Dave turned his head toward Kurt in the dark. "What?"

"What it sounds like. Dinner and a movie." He sighed sharply. "A _date,_ David."

"Ah." Dave shook the popcorn, getting the good bits off the bottom.

"If you want it to be," Kurt added.

Dave nodded. "I don't know," he said honestly. "But my dad said it should be."

"Your _dad?"_ Kurt was loud enough to draw annoyed _shhh's_ from nearby movie viewers. He brought it down to a moderate whisper. "Did he eat some bad melon for breakfast or something? Since when is he rooting for you and me to get together?"

"I think since he saw what a piece of useless crap I've turned into since the end of the school year." _Since Puck took off on tour._ Dave looked into the empty box of popcorn with a gloomy sigh. "He thinks it's pointless for me to wait around for Puck all summer."

"Summer, hmmm?" Kurt looked away for a moment, then back at Dave. His blue eyes were luminous in the light of the screen. "We could try summer."

Dave considered it. "I guess we could."

This time he reached for Kurt's hand, turned it over, and interlaced their fingers together, now considerably more buttery.

Kurt's voice was a little shaky under the wry veneer. "Assuming your boyfriend won't come after me with a ritualistic killing knife."

"He won't," Dave said. "He already said it would be okay with him."

"He - what?" Kurt sounded genuinely shocked.

"Yeah, he's the one who brought it up. Though I think he figured we'd wait until fall."

"We could do that."

Dave shrugged. "Yeah, we could."

The movie kind of sucked, but it filled the space until Kurt could say, "I don't really want to wait."

Dave took an experimental breath. He felt the weight of Kurt's hand in his. It felt different now, somehow. It wasn't Puck's hand. It was Kurt's: his best friend's. Maybe more.

"I don't, either," he said softly, and raised the hand to his lips.

* * *

><p>The squeaking of the back door heralded an arrival. Dave didn't look up to see who it was, but he knew it was Kurt even before he spoke because of his shoes. Nobody else wore shoes with <em>that<em> many buckles. Or in that shade of magenta.

"It's nice back here." Kurt settled against a neighboring tree trunk on top of the soft bed of pine needles.

"You won't say that in a few minutes when the mosquitoes find you. And watch out for the sap. It's sticky."

"It'll wash out," Kurt said, but he shuffled a few inches away from the trunk. "Your dad said I could come out here. I hope it's okay."

Dave shrugged. "Sure." He picked up a twig and used it to dig a furrow in the ground between the needles, resting his cheek on his knees. "This was where I played, most days, after school and on weekends."

"Alone?"

"When I wasn't hanging with friends. I did a lot of reading out here. Or on my garage roof."

Kurt nodded. "It's easier to be alone, sometimes, than to feel like nobody understands."

Of all the people in Lima, Dave figured Kurt probably understood better than anyone. He fought back his reaction to a wave of emotion. When he was calm again, he said, "Better to be alone than to have to explain what I was feeling, I think."

"What _are_ you feeling, David?"

The soft question effectively put a stop to his pity party. He tossed the twig back into the woods with a grunt. "Like an idiot."

"You're not an idiot. Valedictorian, remember? Columbia?" Kurt searched for his eyes, but Dave wasn't quite ready to look at him. "And what heinous crime have you committed recently?"

"I'm in love."

Kurt paused. When he spoke again, he sounded a little breathless. "Do tell."

"You remember him. Shaved head, guitar. Handsome fella. Might have been on Rolling Stone's front cover this month."

"I think I've met him once or twice. And, hey, I heard a rumor that _he _might be in love as well."

Dave nodded. "I heard that too."

"So far the idiotic part of this equation escapes me. But I was never good at math."

"Whatever, Mr. 5-on-the-AP-Calc test." Dave poked Kurt's stylish shoe with his own sneaker. "The idiotic part is that he's in fucking Atlanta, and I'm here. Not likely to see him for months. And I'm _still _missing him."

"It's not a flaw, David. People miss people they love when they're apart. It's just going to have to be a fact in your life. Unless you want to stop loving him."

"How do you turn something like that off?" he snapped. "I don't think I've got a toggle switch."

"I have... a possible solution." He moved to sit beside Dave, their legs touching on one side. "But this might cross over into the idiotic, so feel free to stop me any time."

Dave felt the pressure of Kurt's leg all along his, and the residual tingling. When he put a hand on Kurt's leg, Kurt picked it up. "I'm listening," he said.

"There's an old joke my dad tells, in which a man visits his doctor and says, 'I have a headache.' The doctor takes his cane and stabs him in the foot. While the man is hopping up and down in pain, and yells, 'What did you do that for?' the doctor points out that his head isn't bothering him anymore."

"That's a joke?"

"Sorry, I know. Maybe my dad tells it better. My point is, a new sensation can sometimes distract you from an old one. Like white noise, perhaps, drowning it out."

Dave stared at their joined hands. "So... what, you want to stab me in the foot?"

"David."

"Sorry." He looked at Kurt now, his earnest, stubborn expression so familiar. So dear to him. "I don't think that's going to make the original sensation go away, though. It's still going to be there, in the background."

Kurt nodded. "I anticipate that."

"But don't you think that's going to piss you off? Me, thinking about him all the time?"

"David," Kurt said with good humor. "You're doing that now. You've been doing it all summer. Has it chased me away yet?"

Dave had to concede it had not. He tried again. "You deserve better than this."

Kurt waved one hand in the air. "We're not getting married, David. I'm proposing a summer alliance. Mission: to drown out the persistent, irritating longing for something you can't have, with something you can." He waited expectantly. "What do you say?"

"You're saying I can have... something." The tingling sensation had spread, now, down his leg to his foot, and into his stomach. He reached up and touched Kurt's jaw, lightly, and watched him close his eyes and catch his breath.

"I'm saying you already have it," Kurt whispered. "If you want it."

The answer to that was obvious, at least, but Dave hung back. "I can't promise you I can love you like I love him."

"I wouldn't expect that. What you and Puck have, it's not something that comes along every day." Kurt touched Dave's hand, on his face, and held it gently to his cheek. "But neither is this."

"No," Dave admitted. "I know it isn't. I just feel guilty."

Kurt smiled bravely, and leaned in. "Well, maybe I can drown out that, too."

Kurt's lips were as soft as he'd imagined they would be, soft as he remembered girls' lips being, though it had been over a year since he'd kissed one of those. And Kurt definitely, _definitely_ wasn't a girl. Dave deepened the kiss, savored the sound of Kurt's quiet, encouraging moan, and let his hand card through the silky fringe of hair on his neck.

"Okay?" he asked, leaning their foreheads together.

"So okay," Kurt sighed. "But I'm thinking your backyard might not be the best place for us right now."

Dave glanced around them, at the silent woods, the dark house behind them. "It's not like either of us are in the closet, Kurt. And seriously, who's going to be surprised about this?"

"That's not really my concern." His eyes glinted topaz humor. "I was just guessing your dad might not appreciate us putting on a show for the neighbors."

"Mmmm," Dave agreed. "And exactly what kind of show were you thinking of putting on, Mr. Hummel? I hear you're pretty good on the stage."

"A show for two," he breathed. "One involving fewer pieces of clothing. And definitely not an act."

"I know," Dave said seriously. "I know. Not an act, for me, either." He stood, brushing pine needles off his lap, and held out a hand to help Kurt to his feet. He could feel _exactly_ how much it was _not an act_ when Kurt slipped his arms around Dave's waist and held him close.

"I love you," Kurt said. "And I don't expect you to love me back. But let me, okay? Just... just for the summer."

Dave's heart clenched. "Kind of dangerous, don't you think? You could really get hurt here."

"I know. But... better to have loved and lost, right?"

"Yeah." He shifted his hands on Kurt's back, clutching him tighter. "And Tennyson knew what he was talking about. He was in love with his best friend, who married his sister. They all lived together for two years before he died suddenly. Tennyson named his son after him twenty years later."

"Tragic," Kurt murmured. "But I'm okay with a little drama. I could stand to live without the sudden death, though."

"I'll see what I can do," Dave said, and kissed him again.

* * *

><p><strong>August 2012<strong>

Kurt was thoughtful about not planning activities for them that Dave had already done with Puck. He knew the act of obliterating the sound of Puck in his head was hard enough, without having to introduce competing memories of the same location. But they both figured that camping was a generic enough experience that it would be okay, assuming they didn't go back to the same location as they had visited for Fourth of July.

But Dave found himself making all kinds of unexpected comparisons in his head, unfair ones, including, _Puck could have carried that bundle of firewood, _and _why don't you want to go swimming; so what if we don't have our suits? _

Things reached epically stupid heights when Kurt said, "I'm just going to go back to the car for the spare tarp," and Dave snapped, "It's not going to rain, Kurt."

"David, the forecast says -"

"Fuck your cell phone. It's not going to rain. Who was the Eagle Scout?"

And, of course, it poured down buckets, and they had to prop up the side of their tent in the middle of the night against the deluge, and both pairs of Kurt's shoes got soaking wet, and they ended up going back to sleep in the car at 4am, and Dave cried for a half-hour straight while he packed up the dripping tent because Kurt _never once_ said "I told you so."

"This isn't working," Kurt said, on their way back to Lima.

"I know," Dave replied miserably. "You're not happy."

"Because you're acting so _guilty_ all the time." Kurt huffed an exasperated breath behind crossed arms. "Can't you just give up the idea of making me happy? I'm a big boy, David. I can make my own choices here. I'm the one who chose _you."_

Dave just shook his head. "I don't get it."

"That's abundantly clear." He brushed a hand through his rain-spoiled hairdo for the thousandth time. "Goddamn water-soluble gel."

"You look fine."

"Allow me my vanity, _please."_ Kurt stared ahead at the road before them. "All right. Let's give ourselves... a week. No phone calls, no emails, no texts. We avoid each other as best as we can. Then let's see where we are."

Dave nodded, because he knew it was a good idea, not because he wanted to do it. All he could think was, _Now I'll have two people to miss._

He didn't even last four days before he hunted Kurt down on Facebook.

_I'm weak and I admit it,_ Dave said in his PM. _Really sexy, huh?_

The reply came immediately. _Maybe I'd have a leg to stand on if I weren't mooning over pictures of the two of us dancing at Prom as we speak._

_We're pretty pathetic for a couple of smart guys, aren't we?_

_Tell me about it,_ Kurt affirmed. _I think we ought to celebrate with a cone from DQ._

_You know what they put in that shit, don't you? It's not even real ice cream. _

_No, but I get to watch you lick the drips off your fingers. Oh, did I say that?_

_Color me flirted with, Hummel. I'll pick you up in five minutes._

He got out of the car and went to the porch to apologize in person, but the first words out of Kurt's mouth when he opened the door were, "I'm sorry, David. That wasn't fair of me."

"You're stealing my thunder here, Kurt," Dave said, reaching for him. "Aren't I the one who's supposed to apologize?"

Kurt stood, shaking, in Dave's arms for a good twenty seconds before collecting himself enough to say, "I really hated myself for suggesting a week. Maybe next time you shouldn't listen to me when I make sense like that."

"Yeah." Kurt didn't even object when he stroked his hair. "Shhh, it's okay... come on, don't worry. We're okay."

"Right now." Kurt wiped his eyes on Dave's t-shirt. "But all I can think of is, this is exactly what's going to happen at the end of the summer. And I'm the one who fucking _said it._ Summer. That was the deal, right?"

"That was," Dave said. "Now it's my turn to make sense, Kurt. You should head into college with a clean slate. No strings, no guys. You never know who you might meet. Maybe your roommate will turn out to be the hunk of your dreams."

"And you don't owe it to yourself to start with a clean slate, too?"

Dave shook his head. "You know I'm still in love with him."

"And I'm in love with you, David," Kurt replied fiercely, driving Dave back a step. He grabbed for the railing to keep from falling into Carole's hydrangea.

"Jesus," Dave muttered. _Apparently ninja feelings aren't solely reserved for me and Puck. _

"What, are you surprised to hear it?"

"No, I'm surprised to find myself having trouble breathing."

Kurt put one hand to his mouth and stared at Dave with desperate, accusing eyes. Dave shook his head.

"I don't have any new answers, Kurt. I'm just as fucking confused as I was a month ago. Maybe more, now, because... because I love you, too, and that makes it really, really hard to say no to you."

"Then don't," Kurt said. "Don't say no."

He stared helplessly back at him. "It's really worth it to you? All this... this mess?"

"Love's messy, David." Kurt held his breath. "Say it again. Please?"

"I love you?"

A derisive snort escaped his lips. "What, you're asking me? This is your big moment, David. Be definitive."

"Leave it to you to want to direct. Okay, Kurt. I love you. Got that?" He cupped both hands over his mouth. "_I love you._ You need it a little bit louder? I don't think your dad heard me."

"My dad's at the garage, but we can drive by on our way to Dairy Queen if you're feeling the need to do another take." Kurt's face was alight with mirth, two spots of color high on his cheeks, and he was smiling as he took Dave's arm. "That last one was a little over the top."

* * *

><p><strong>September 2012<strong>

"I'm going to take up these two suitcases," Kurt said, lifting them onto the curb. "Are you sure you can't find something with wheels to carry the rest?"

"Not unless you stowed a wagon in your manpurse," Dave grinned. "I think we're hoofing it. At least there are elevators. Let's see how many things you can load onto my arms before I collapse under the weight."

They unpacked the rest of their stuff onto the curb; Carole said she'd wait with it while Burt took care of parking the car. The two boys made their way into Carman Hall, trying not to look too much like tourists. The smiling girl who met them at the desk gave them both cards with seventh floor rooms listed on them. "Welcome to Columbia," she said.

"That smile was definitely for you," Kurt murmured as they waited for the elevator. "She might as well have added _What's your sign."_

Dave still didn't quite believe it when Kurt said things like that, but he guessed he recognized that she'd been flirting with him. "Yeah, well... even if she were the right gender, I'm pretty sure my dance card's already full."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Scribbled into the margins, even."

They were six doors down the hall from each other. Kurt's roommate, Alain, was a native New Yorker. He seemed like a nice guy, quiet and friendly, and not at all fazed by Kurt's enormous wardrobe or his specific requirements about the morning bathroom routine. He did turn to Dave at one point and whisper, "Is he always so... particular?"

"Pretty much always," Dave said, and Alain just nodded thoughtfully and took it in stride. Dave appreciated that about him, so when Alain noticed the two of them standing a little close together, he came out to him right away. It was more or less impossible to be closeted around Kurt, anyway.

"So the two of you...?" Alain said, and Dave nodded at the same time Kurt shook his head.

"It's complicated," Dave hastened to add, when Alain looked confused. "I have a boyfriend, but he's kind of..."

"Famous," Kurt trilled, placing Puck's CD into Alain's hands. Alain stared at the CD, then his eyes bugged out and they grinned while Alain gibbered at Dave for a good thirty seconds.

Dave's roommate, Rick, on the other hand, was from a small town in Pennsylvania, and he didn't take very kindly to Kurt's presence in their room. Over the course of the afternoon, Dave watched the expression on Kurt's face go from amused, to irritated, to conniving.

"You're going to have to back off, Kurt," he murmured, watching Kurt eyeing Rick like a weasel with an egg. "I'm the one who has to live with him."

Kurt stayed silent, but he had immaculate timing. As soon as Burt and Carole bid them goodbye and drove away, Dave found himself cornered in his empty dorm room. Kurt regarded Dave with a predatory expression as he locked the door.

"What if he comes back?" Dave said, but his question wasn't stopping him from letting Kurt dip hands under his polo shirt and pull it over his head.

"It's a good opportunity to go over the meaning of the sock on the doorknob, then." Kurt's hands reversed course and went to work on Dave's shorts, letting Dave begin the long process of removing Kurt's clothes. It wasn't a hardship, but he wondered sometimes if Kurt would mind if he just started by taking Kurt's clothes off, before they even began thinking about what to do with their bodies.

Eventually, there was enough skin showing that Dave could feel the heat of Kurt, the soft texture of his skin, and he let his minor anxieties slip away in the face of their connection. It was as electric as it had always between them, even when they'd been enemies: always the spark of conflict, spurring them on to greater intensity.

It wasn't their first time, or even their tenth or twentieth, but Dave knew he would always remember this, the two of them together on their first day of college. "Kurt," he breathed against his neck, hearing him respond, feeling him open beneath him.

"_David,"_ came Kurt's gasp, the name only Kurt used for him, something just between the two of them. He liked it that way. When they were together like this, Dave buried deep inside him, it wasn't Puck he had on his mind, and it never felt like a substitute or something second best or a replacement. It was just _Kurt _and_ Dave, _and he was just so goddamn happy. In those moments, it worked.

Whatever Rick had thought about Kurt before, by that afternoon he was an equal-opportunity glarer.

"Do you think he heard us?" Dave wondered, sotto voce, as he filled his lunch tray in the cafeteria.

"Maybe we're just glistening with the dewy sheen of the recently-fucked," Kurt said blithely, making Dave choke on his apple.

It was irrelevant, because after that day, Rick never spoke to Kurt unless he had to, and then only in terse sentences, including _Get your bag off my bed_ and _Can't you guys find someplace else to do that?_ It was clear that Kurt was baiting him, but they managed to stretch it out almost a whole month before Rick went to the RA and asked to switch rooms. To his dubious credit, he accomplished this without using the words _faggot_ or _homo._

Alain wasn't happy to be asked to change roommates, because he didn't like Rick any better than Kurt or Dave did, but he acknowledged that it would be easier. "I can tolerate him as long as he's sober," Alain confided to Dave. "But - really, I still don't get this thing you and Kurt have. I mean, you don't call him your boyfriend?"

Dave didn't really get it either. _Friends with benefits _was too casual a term for what they were to each other, but when the question came up, _do you have a boyfriend?_ the answer was always _yeah, and his name's Puck._

"He's my best friend," Dave said. "And I love him a lot. That's all."

* * *

><p>Dave sat with his headphones on, sunk deep into the couch in the lobby. He felt Kurt's hands on his shoulders, felt his cheek pressed against his, but he didn't move out of that position, or even turn around. Eventually Kurt left him alone.<p>

He turned a while later to find Alain sitting beside him, reading and watching him with patient regret. "Gone?"

"This morning," Dave said steadily. "He's playing in Jersey tonight."

Alain nodded. "I think... I see how it is for you and him. _ He's _your boyfriend."

Dave clenched his jaw and pulled the headphones down off his ears. He'd heard all the songs a million times anyway. "Yeah."

"But... Dave." Alain touched his arm. "How can you do this to Kurt?"

He flinched away. "I ask myself that a lot."

"And?"

"And I love him. And he keeps telling me it's okay, that I... that I love Puck, anyway. Too."

"If it were really okay, Dave, you wouldn't be hurting like _this."_

Dave's head shook of its own volition. "No... that's just because he's fucking gone. Again."

"And who's here?"

Dave didn't quite get the question at first. He turned his head toward Alain, trying to focus through the stupid tears. "Huh?"

"He's gone. But Kurt's not." He jerked his head at the hallway, toward Dave's and Kurt's room. "You owe him more than what's left over when Puck's not around."

"Fuck, man," Dave whispered. "It's all I've got."

"You've got this. Go give it to him."

He stared at him in horror. "He doesn't need to see me like this."

"Yeah, he does. And you need Kurt." Alain glared at him. "Most people don't get to love even _one_ person like that. You get _two._ Don't shortchange him."

He got up and left Dave there on the couch, until the self-recrimination and loneliness in his head was eclipsed by the Kurt-sized hole in his heart. Dave took off his headphones and went to their room to find Kurt pretending to study on his bed. The expression on his face was almost more than Dave could bear, but he fought back his guilt and went to him, setting his book aside.

"That kind of sucked for you, didn't it?" he asked softly.

Kurt wouldn't look at him. "I knew the deal, David. He's your priority. I didn't expect anything else."

"You think that's what you deserve?"

"It's enough," Kurt said, but Dave shook his head.

"No, baby, it's _not._ You're worth more than that. To me."

Kurt heaved a sigh, not too dramatic, just honest. "David, you're my best friend. And... I won't lie; the sex is great. But we're still walking parallel paths. We're not taking a single journey together. I don't think we're meant to."

Dave took both of Kurt's slender, strong hands in his own. "I don't have answers any more than you do. This isn't what I expected, either. But I love you. And you... you're here. And he's not." He paused, fighting unexpected tears, and Kurt sighed again, pulling him into his arms.

"I know. I know. You miss him so much."

"You don't need to fucking hear about _that,"_ Dave choked, but he leaned into Kurt's warm embrace, and his kisses were comforting despite everything.

"I love you all the time, David, Even when you're hurting. Even when it's not about me. Just let me, remember?"

"God." Dave wiped his eyes. "Kurt."

"Yes," Kurt murmured into his ear. "It's me. I'm right here."

* * *

><p><strong>January 2013<strong>

"All right," Dave said the second time he saw Kurt sneak his phone back into his pocket. "You're a terrible liar. Come on. What's going on?"

"Nothing," Kurt said, completely unconvincingly, and he looked desperate when Dave grabbed his arm.

"You're going to tell me, or I'm sacrificing the McQueen shirt to the dryer. The extra-hot one."

"David!"

"Don't _David_ me," he snapped. "I don't like being lied to."

Kurt's guilty face was scarlet. "Even if it's for a good cause?"

"Even if - what?"

"I told him I couldn't pull it off," he moaned. "Shit. You're going to have to call him and tell him yourself." Kurt pressed redial and handed his phone to Dave, who put it to his ear automatically, startled. He was even more startled to hear the voice on the other end.

"Go for Puckerman."

"Uh - hi?"

"Dave? What the fuck are you doing calling me on Kurt's phone?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Tell him," he said.

"Kurt says... he's lying to me for a good cause?"

"Dude. I can't even get Hummel to keep a secret for a _week?"_ He didn't sound upset, though. "What's coming up next Monday?"

"I don't... oh." Now Dave felt his own cheeks flush. "My birthday."

"Bingo. And who's gonna celebrate with you?"

"My boyfriend," Dave whispered. Kurt's lips twitched.

"One of them, anyway. I'll be in fucking London." He sounded rueful, but not angry. "You'll have to wait until next month to celebrate with your other one."

"Sorry to ruin the surprise." Dave was aghast, but Kurt just slipped an arm around his waist and settled his head on Dave's chest.

"Your loss, man. Tell Hummel not to worry about it, okay? He was sure he was going to blow it. But it'll still be all right. I told him how important birthdays are for you, in your family. He'll take good care of you."

"Always does," Dave murmured, and kissed Kurt's head. "Thanks, Noah."

"Love you, baby," Puck replied, rich and full. "Now hang up, put this phone back in Kurt's hands and tell him to explain everything. I'll talk to you tonight."

* * *

><p><strong>April 2013<strong>

Alain caught up with Dave as he rounded the corner, jogging in place while he waited for the light to change. "Mind if I join you?"

"Be my guest," Dave panted. Running in the city wasn't ideal, but the weather was way too nice for him to justify going to the gym. They were close enough friends by now that they didn't need small talk, and they paced each other down the block and south on Riverside Drive.

"You guys going to the Swing Spring Semi-Formal?" Alain asked.

Dave smirked. "I can't believe you said that with a straight face."

"Not exactly," said Alain.

"What?"

"Nothing. I know Kurt likes to dance. You going to take him?"

"I don't really dance," Dave said, checking his pulse.

"So he's probably free, then?"

They started across Riverside to 112th, dodging two kids with a basketball as they headed toward the park. "What's all this about Kurt and dancing?"

Alain shrugged. "I took that swing dance class this semester. I thought... well, it'd be fun, and if you don't want to dance, he might -"

"Al." Dave grabbed him by the shoulder. "What the fuck, man?"

"I didn't - I didn't think you'd be jealous," he insisted. "Not with the way things are between the two of you."

"I'm not... jealous?" He shook his head. "Surprised, maybe. Uh, since when are you interested in _guys?"_

Alain gave Dave a peculiar look. "Since I never cared about somebody's gender. It's the thing inside that matters."

Dave shook his head. "Puck always said the same thing."

"See, I knew I liked him." Alain's grin was wide enough to encompass his whole face. "So... you don't mind?

"You and _Kurt?"_

"Hey. Watch the car. That's it." Alain led them around a fire hydrant. "No, _you_ and Kurt. I'd just be taking him to the dance. If..." He paused, chewing his lip. "If you don't think he'd mind."

They ran another long avenue block before Dave spoke again. "I don't think he would at all."

* * *

><p><strong>May 2013<strong>

_... Kurt had cleared out his things the day before, but he was still working at the desk when Dave came down with his last load of stuff. "When are you taking off for Lima?" he asked him. Kurt regarded him steadily._

_"I'm not," he said. "I'm staying in New York for the summer."_

_Dave stared at him. "What-? Kurt, you didn't –"_

_"I know." Kurt took keys from two other students and checked them out, handing them their deposits. "I didn't want to go through this with you any sooner than I had to. You're a worrier, Dave. It's going to give you an ulcer someday."_

_Dave took a step back, still stunned. "Kurt," he protested. "What about – summer? I mean…" He chewed on his lip. "We had plans."_

_"Plans change." He looked tense, and Dave realized he was excited. It had been a long time since he'd seen that kind of energy in Kurt. "Rachel got me a place in summer stock with some of her NYADA compatriots. I get to do six shows a week, every week, for eight weeks."_

_"That – that's great," he said. He meant it, but it didn't come out sounding like it. He tried again: "I'm really happy for you, baby."_

_"Don't," Kurt said quietly. His eyes flickered to Dave's hands, on the desk, but when Dave reached for him, he drew away. "We can't do this anymore."_

_Dave slowly let his hands drop to his side. "Okay," he said, slowly. "What's going on here, Kurt?"_

_"Have you talked to Puck?" Kurt said, watching him. Dave nodded._

_"He's in LA this month, recording, but he'll be home for a few weeks in July. Is that what this is about?"_

_Kurt shook his head. "This is about me, standing up for myself, Dave." He took another round of keys from waiting students while Dave waited, feeling suddenly lost. Then Kurt turned to him, jerking his chin up. "I thought things would be different by now… but they're not. You still drop everything every time he comes around." He wasn't angry, Dave could see; he was just sad. "Nobody wants to be second best."_

_Dave realized there was nothing he could say to that that would be honest, so he just nodded. This time when he reached for Kurt's hand, Kurt let him take it._

_"Give me the summer to get over it," Kurt said. "I'll be okay by fall. I still want to be your friend, Dave."_

* * *

><p><strong>July 2013<strong>

"It's just me again," said Dave into the phone. "No hurry. I know you're in rehearsal. Call me when you get home."

He got halfway through making a banana-mango smoothie in his dad's blender before Kurt called back. "That was quick. You're not done already?"

"No, I'm on break..." He sounded excited. "I won't be around tonight. I have a date."

"You - really?"

"Don't sound so shocked, for Gaga's sake."

"I'm not," Dave lied. The smoothie was too thick. He added a splash of orange juice, and a few strawberries for good measure. "You're completely justified in dating anyone you want to. Somebody in summer stock with you?"

"No. It's Alain."

He nearly knocked over the orange juice. "_What?"_

"David, we've been seeing each other for over a month."

Dave slowly added three more strawberries. "Wow. I had no idea you were even interested in him."

"Really. Because I'm pretty sure he said something about asking you, way back in the spring?"

Dave didn't respond. He heard Kurt's voice, softer now. "It doesn't bother you, does it?"

_Yes. I miss you. Why don't you want me that way anymore? _ "No," he said. "It's fine. And... that's going well?"

"It really is." Kurt sounded so happy. Dave didn't actually remember him sounding like that, maybe ever. He set the glass blender down and gripped the edge of the counter, more full of anguish than he had any right to be.

"I'm happy for you."

"I know you are, David. And I know how you're feeling, maybe. I... regret that, but I also know you understand." His voice dropped. "You need to call him. He's who you really need."

If the sensation of wanting had been strong a minute ago, it was nothing to what these words inspired in him. Dave felt his knees buckling, and he was crying, right there in his kitchen. "He's not _here,_ Kurt. He's in fucking California."

"I know, baby. I'm sorry."

He couldn't respond, but he knew it was okay. Kurt could hear him anyway. It was like the words he was thinking were in both their heads, at the same time: _ It was good, what we had, and I love you, but it wasn't enough. _

"I'm sorry, too, Kurt. I never wanted to hurt you."

"No - David, no. It was just what I wanted. Remember? My choice. And I'm okay, I really am."

"I can tell," he said honestly. "You sound - more like yourself than I've ever heard you."

"Good luck, David. I love you."

"Love you, too, Kurt. Congratulations."

After he hung up, he looked at the phone for a little while. One year again, he'd made a phone call to Kurt, asking him out to the movies. Now they were back to friends again, but he couldn't bring himself to feel regret.

_Puck had been okay with all of it,_ he thought, dialing his number. _But maybe he'd felt a little of this, being so far away from me. From us - knowing we were together, happy for us, but... sad, too?_ Somehow, thinking that Puck might understand made him feel a little better.

He was surprised when Puck picked up. "You're awake?" he blurted.

"Good morning to you, too," Puck said, amused. "Early morning sound check before we do the benefit for the children's hospital. What's up?"

"I..." He couldn't get the words out for a minute, but then he took a swallow of his smoothie, and it was just right, tart and thick and perfectly creamy.

"It's Kurt," he said. "He's in love."

"Hey, good for him." Dave could hear his smile. "Are you okay?"

"I miss you, baby," he whispered. "So much. And... I'm sorry, if what we did, me and Kurt, if that was hard. I think I understand how you might have felt now."

"Maybe? I don't know. It was good, though, knowing you were with him. I mean, if I couldn't be, at least you had each other? And now... he's got something, right? Something he needed."

"I hope so," Dave said fervently. "I hope it's like this. Because - because -"

"Yeah," Puck said. "I know."

They sat in their own comfortable silence for a few minutes. Dave took another sip of his drink. It was still perfect.

"I've got to go, Dave. You hanging in there?"

"Yeah," he said. "I'll call you later?"

He let himself cry a little more when they hung up. It felt a little like goodbye, and a little like I'm sorry, and a little bit of regret for not being able to have it all.


End file.
